


At the Water's Edge

by winterkill



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, F/M, He's naked and wet and has no idea what is going on, I bastardized a lot of folklore for this, Jaime just wants to be part of her world, Kelpies, Smut, and LOTS of water imagery, but not while Jaime is a kelpie I SWEAR, features scenery porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23960224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterkill/pseuds/winterkill
Summary: "When Brienne sleeps with the book of folktales under her pillow, she dreams of swimming in the loch. The kelpie is there--golden mane glinting in the shafts of sunlight filtering through the water. It swims towards her as though bounding across a field, ethereal and otherworldly.I should be dead,her dream-self wants to say, only of course she can’t speak underwater. It’s incorrect enough that she can breath.Galladon died, and I lived. But why?"Brienne dreams of a kelpie who saved her from drowning when she was a girl. What she doesn't expect is for a naked man to walk out of the same lake over a decade later.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 839
Kudos: 481





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here's the kelpie fic! If you follow me on tumblr, I've been talking about this for a couple weeks. It's about half complete now, so expect a steady posting schedule.
> 
> This is a riff on a folktale from an island off the coast of Scotland. In the story, a lonely kelpie falls in love with a girl and transforms into a human to be with her. Or, that is what the internet lead me to believe.
> 
> ...It's also sort of _The Little Mermaid._ 🤷

Galladon is twelve summers’ old when he drowns in the loch near Evenfall.

Father forbids them from taking the boat out alone. The weather on Tarth is unpredictable--storms blow in at a moment’s notice. Galladon wants to try catching their father’s favorite fish as a surprise. Brienne is only eight, but she knows how despondent their father has been since the death of their mother and sister on the birthing bed.

Brienne is sad that Galladon and Father are sad; her mother died just after her third nameday, and she can’t remember her face. She remembers impressions--a hand stroking through her hair as she fell asleep, a voice like birdsong singing a lullaby about the Maiden and Galladon of Morne. Brienne liked that one because her brother is named after the hero, and it has swords and dragons.

She trails after Galladon through the meadow. Evenfall stands on a bluff, rocky cliffs dropping into the sea on one side and farmlands sloping into the loch on the other. The loch meets the sea, but a hill obscures the view of it. All the summer wildflowers are in bloom, a waving sea of gold and crimson and white. Galladon’s stride is greater than hers, and Brienne has to run to keep pace with him. 

“It will make Father happy,” Galladon yells back to her, “And can you hurry up?”

The more practical of the two of them, Brienne calls back “But we’re not allowed!”

“The men go out alone, and I am nearly a man grown. I thought you were brave, Brienne. Are you just a scared little girl?”

“If you’re able, then so am I!” Galladon _always_ knows how to rankle her; Brienne is fiercely, pigheadedly competitive. 

After a quarter hour walk, sweat is trickling down the back of Brienne’s dress by the time they reach the small dock on the shore. The sunlight glints off the water, sparkling like sapphires. Brienne holds her hand up to shield her eyes from the reflection. 

The loch _looks_ placid.

The warnings are right, though, because less than an hour after Galladon unties them from the dock and rows them to the middle of the lake, a storm rolls in off the water.

* * *

Brienne doesn’t remember much from the moments after the boat capsized. The water grew choppy and rain pelted down on her in sheets. She scrambled for purchase against the coated wood of the hull. She screamed; although, no one could _possibly_ hear her over the wind and the rain.

She remembers tiring and calling Galladon’s name over and over. She remembers thinking of what it would be like when the Stranger came for her. Would she get to see her mother and sister?

Eventually, Brienne couldn't hold on any longer, and she sunk beneath the waves. 

It’s not _quite_ a memory--more like a dream--but she _thinks_ that someone, or _something,_ carried her to shore on its back. She held onto hair the golden color of sunlight and gasped for air when they broke through the surface of the water.

The storm had passed, and the sun was setting by the time her father found her on the shore alone. She coughed up a lung full of water and sobbed into her father’s broad chest as he carried her back to Evenfall.

Some men from the village found Galladon’s body, bloated and soft with lake water, nearly a sennight later, tangled in some reeds on the opposite shore. 

* * *

For weeks after Galladon’s death, the talk of the village is not that Selwyn Tarth’s heir died, but _how_ Brienne had lived. Her father is lost in his grief, so Brienne does the tasks of the household as best as she can manage. The servants have an affection for her, so they do their duties without complaint. 

Brienne rides her horse the hour it takes to the port village twice a week. Sometimes, her father’s castellan accompanies her, and sometimes she goes alone. They manage Tarth’s marble quarries, and Brienne is too young to do the sums without aid.

The common folk of Tarth are superstitious; they believe the fae inhabit the woods of the island, and that sirens and merfolk roam the seas. The crones in the village speak of changelings swapping out children in the crib and kelpies luring them into the water to feast on, leaving their entrails on the shore. Brienne’s heard stories of that ilk since she was old enough to recall, the kind that are meant to scare naughty children and explain things that can’t be explained. 

The whispers of the villagers find her ears easily enough.

She’s buying flour in the village two moons after Galladon’s death when a woman grabs her roughly by the elbow. “You’ve their mark on you,” she says. Brienne notices her teeth are yellowed with age, and a fair few have fallen out.

Brienne’s already tall and broad for her age, and no one thinks she’ll grow to be a great beauty. Even though the woman’s grip is strong, she could easily break away. 

“Excuse me?”

“They took your brother and spared you,” she continues, spindly fingers digging into Brienne’s sleeve. “They’ll come for you later.”

She wishes their castellan had come with her today. She’s poor at conversation, and none of her governess Roelle's lessons made her any more charming or able to deal with conflict.

“W-who?”

“The kelpies in the loch. They took your brother as sacrifice, but turned _you_ loose. You owe them a debt, my lady. They’ll come collecting, one day. Keep a wary eye open when you’re at the water’s edge.”

That night, back at Evenfall, she asks Roelle, who came from the mainland, if she’d ever heard of such a thing.

“Outlandish,” Roelle tells her, “The talk of illiterate villagers who believe in fairies and magic. It’s not something a highborn girl like yourself should bother with. Think of your poor father, widowed with only _you_ left. You’ll have enough trouble finding a lord husband with that face of yours, nevermind notions of kelpies and fairies in your head.”

Brienne is used to the harsh words, but she _does_ linger a little longer at the mirror in her room, inspecting her freckles. _I like training at the sword with Ser Goodwin more, anyway._ If she made a poor lady, she could be a hero like Galldon wanted to be.

After everyone has gone to sleep, Brienne takes the candle from her beside table and tiptoes to the library to look for a book on Tarth’s folklore.

* * *

The book lives under Brienne’s pillow. 

She reads it cover-to-cover more than once, and Roelle would probably take it from her if she knew. She traces her fingertips, calloused from swordplay and farmwork, over the illustration of the kelpie, thinking of what the woman in the village told her. It _looks_ like a horse, but the mane and tale are longer. The illustration isn’t colored but, to Brienne, the mane is gold.

When she sleeps with the book under her pillow, Brienne dreams of swimming in the loch. In the dream, she can breath under the water, and shafts of sunlight pierce the blue depths. It’s the complete opposite of the day Galladon drowned. 

The day she _didn’t_ drown.

The kelpie is there--golden mane glinting in the sunlight. It swims towards her as though bounding across a field, ethereal and otherworldly. _I should be dead,_ her dreams-self wants to say, only of course she can’t speak underwater. It’s incorrect enough that she can breath. 

_Galladon died, and I lived. But why?_

The kelpie swims circles around her and stops before her, watching her with its dark eyes. They’re fathomless like the depths of the loch itself. For all the tales from the book and the villagers, she doesn’t fear it. It seems curious, not malicious. Brienne touches it with a tentative hand, feeling the silky mane between her fingers. The texture almost reminds her of the seaweed that washes up along the beach. 

Only once in the dream does the kelpie let her ride it--they sail through the dark water to the shoreline, and Brienne wakes up with tears on her cheeks.

The loch remains as beautiful as it was the day Galladon died. She never swims or rows the boat. The few times she’s sailed with her father to Storm’s End have been fraught with anxiety. Brienne only skirts the path at the water’s edge when she needs to go to the village to trade with the merchants who call at Tarth’s port. 

Most of the loch is surrounded by a thick bramble of forest where daylight barely reaches through the covering of trees. Sometimes, when Brienne’s back is to the water, or when she’s wandering under the shaded bower of the trees, she swears she’s being watched.

Brienne’s grief and guilt over Galladon’s death aches like a physical wound. It heals, slowly, but there’s some that endures, festering under the skin and in her heart. She’s not the daughter her father needs, and she’s not a son, either. That was Galladon. Her father is locked in his grief even more soundly than Brienne is. 

Sometimes, she thinks to ask her father if he wished Galladon had lived and she had drowned. Her only hope is to marry and birth a son who can act as heir to Evenfall. Then, she remembers the old woman at the village, and the half-memory, half-dream of being surrounded by gold and carried to the edge of the lake.

_If it’s true, if_ something _saved me, why did it choose me and not Galladon?_

* * *

By the time Brienne is ten-and-four, Roelle has given up on her and goes back to the mainland. Selwyn hasn't remarried and there are no younger girls at Evenfall who need her tutelage.

"The people here have _no_ sense of propriety,” she says to Brienne when the carriage comes to take her to the harbor. “You'll never be the proper daughter of a lord.”

The day Roelle leaves, Brienne buries all the gowns that make her look horrible in the back of her wardrobe, never to be worn again. Brienne doesn't want to shame her father. It's bad enough she's tongue-tied and graceless, she can't wear a shirt and breeches to dinner when there's guests. There are two gowns she favors, both blue and simple in their design. Her father told her both make her resemble her mother. Brienne thinks he might be lying, but she loves to hear it regardless.

Brienne trains with Ser Goodwin and beats the boys from the village who come to Evenfall to train. They call her names in their spite--Brienne the Beauty and other unkind things. The names sting, but victory soothes it. If she can’t be a proper lady, she’ll dedicate herself to martial pursuits. It doesn’t solve the issue of her duty as heir to marry and have children, but it gives Brienne _something._

Brienne asks her father if he’s disappointed in her.

"Be true to yourself," her father tells her, "We're all we have left. I won't see you unhappy."

Brienne hugs him and whispers, "Thank you."

Galladon’s been gone nearly half her life, but the grief still lingers between her father and her like a spectre. Brienne never asked him her question of whether he wished Galladon were here and she had died. Now that she’s a bit older, the cruelty of the question stands out to her. _How horrible was I to consider asking that?_

Certainly, her father wishes they were _all_ here--her mother, Galladon, and her sister.

“I’ll make you proud and do my duty,” Brienne says to him when he releases her. If he finds a match for her, Brienne will consent. She isn’t the son Galladon would’ve been, but she can be the best daughter she can be.

Even though Brienne’s nearly a woman-grown, the book of folklore still lives on her bedside table. With Roelle gone, there is little need to hide it. She doesn’t read it nightly like she did as a girl, but she looks at it and _wonders._ She can see the loch from the window of her chambers, the moon reflected back against the water--a perfect, still mirror.

_What do I owe for my life? And when will the debt need to be paid?_


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl’s name is Brienne.
> 
> He knows it because not long after he drops her in the grass on the shore, the name is shouted over and over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am BEYOND awed at the response the first chapter of this got! My ideas feel all over the place so much of the time, and I always wonder if they're too niche. Thank you all so much!
> 
> I hope you enjoy kelpie!Jaime.
> 
> Also, this fic is Jaime and Cersei incest free!

The girl’s name is Brienne.

He knows it because not long after he drops her in the grass on the shore, the name is shouted over and over.

The rain has stopped, and he settles into the reeds at the edge of the loch to maintain cover.

It makes him a _bit_ envious of the fae creatures who can conceal their appearances. 

The girl-- _Brienne--_ has hair the color of straw and eyes like the summer sky. She looked at him when he pulled her up from the water and carried her to shore. He wonders if she’ll remember that part of their exchange. The girl is a child, weaned from her mother and mobile enough to take a boat into the lake.

Human’s rate of growth remains a bit of a mystery to him, especially given that time passes differently deep in the forest where the fae live. Even he might find that if he wandered too far into the woods that a sennight might pass when he wandered out. 

His sister won’t be pleased that he saved a mortal girl. _A perfectly good meal,_ she’ll say. She’ll be even less pleased when she figures out the girl might remember him. 

_She’ll think it a dream._ Or at least that’s what he hopes.

The man yelling the girl’s name is broad as an ox and taller than any human he has ever seen. He likes to watch humans, and has ever since he was old enough to swim to the edge of the loch or to where it meets the sea. Their lives are so fleeting, and they spend _so_ much of the time engaged in incomprehensible activities.

 _Pointlessly killing one another and ruining our island_ , his sister might say.

Brienne coughs up lake water when the man, certainly her father, thumps her soundly on the back. He had been mindful of that--humans couldn’t breath in the water as his kind could, so he rushed her to the water’s surface. He had no idea what to do if she didn’t begin breathing on her own.

Then, she bursts into a mournful keening, and her father gathers her against his chest.

It’s such a heartrending sound, and he’s grateful that Brienne has someone to hold her and carry her home. He remembers the death of his own mother, and the fact that no one, other than his sister, had been there when he grieved her.

* * *

As predicted, he’s scolded when he returns to the pool where they make their home. It’s deep in the forest where no human could venture with any hope of return and is connected to the loch via an underground river. 

_Secret and safe,_ his sister always said.

Despite her disdain of humans, his sister seems quite fond of her human form. The shift is meant as a predatory mechanism, and she uses it as such. Many times in their decades together he’s watched her lay naked on a rock to lure a man into the water. 

_They’re such beasts,_ she would laugh, _how easy they come to meet their demise._

He is kinder, or as his sister would say, _weaker._

Today, she’s human, reclined at the edge of the pool. She’s beautiful, and sometimes she uses that to sway him in her favor. It had a greater effect in prior decades. He finds it easiest to meet her in the form she’s chosen. To take the form of a man is as easy as moving through the water.

It doesn’t make him one, though, and sometimes, he wishes it did.

“A little bird told me you saved a village whelp,” she chides. His sister’s tone is congenial, which is often the worst of her lies.

“A little bird,” he repeats, “Isn’t there some better focus for your little spies?”

“Not on this day, brother,” she looks at him with judgment, “Not when you go against our nature.”

He doesn’t like this conversation; it’s an unpleasant loop, like getting tangled in the reeds at the bottom of the loch. She always tightens her hold when he struggles. His sister is the most adept of them at catching things. It’s not pure might, either; his sister delights in the sport of it. Sometimes, she’ll let a man go and tempt him back the next day, just to show that she _can._

“The girl was barely a mouthful. I could do better.” He tries to bluster his way through the conversation. The human’s language doesn’t feel native on his tongue, but she is less likely to know his mind this way.

“It’s the _sentiment,_ brother,” she shakes her head reproachfully, the golden curtain of her hair covering things the humans on the island would find indecorous. “You should’ve done it just because you _can,_ because you’re _meant_ to. _”_

His answering silence is the first step in a slow, but irrevocable, exile.

* * *

The seasons turn--the trees grow gold and red, snow blankets the hills, the wildflowers bloom in the fields.

The girl grows, and he _watches._

The long lifespan of a kelpie renders time meaningless. He knows, objectively, that human life is fleeting, but he starts to realize it watching someone move through the stages. Brienne comes up to her father’s knees one day when walking by the shore of the loch. The next, she’s riding her horse through the meadow at a full-gallop, and then she’s twice as tall as the day they met. A kelpie could curl up at the bottom of the loch for a sleep and awake to find her entire life had passed.

He doesn’t want that to happen, so he pays attention to the journey of the sun and moon across the sky.

She rides towards the village where the humans gather. _They cower together,_ his sister always said, _like prey._ Brienne astride her horse reminds him of the day he saved her--she’d ridden him, then, sailing through the dark water. A mortal only rides a kelpie to be dragged unknowingly to the depths. If his sister had found her, all that would remain were Brienne’s entrails on the shore.

The more he watches Brienne, the less he returns to his sister.

“I know where you’ve been spending your time.” Her voice is honey-sweet as it echoes in his mind. “You’re watching that beast of a girl.” They don’t speak in this form, not like humans do, but he knows her mind as if she had. She swims around him, mane and tail glowing and golden in the darkness.

“I’ll spend my time where I choose.”

“Do you fancy yourself her protector?”

“I just see her passing by,” he deflects.

“Liar,” she tosses her head mockingly, “She’d be terrified of you, if she knew. The humans _hunt_ us, or have you forgotten what happened to mother?”

“They rarely catch us,” he argues, “And I keep myself well away.”

“It’s not what you want though. I _know_ you, brother, you long to throw yourself onto the shore at the girl’s feet.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Maybe I’ll lure her into the water myself.”

“You wouldn’t _dare.”_ The words leave his mind with such intensity; they sound like a claim he certainly doesn’t have.

His sister’s laugh echoes in his mind as she swims away.

* * *

Sometimes, when Brienne stops at the water’s edge, hand shading her eyes from the glare off the water, he thinks she sees him. It can’t be true--the shore is too far away, and he keeps himself hidden under the water’s surface. She never swims, but sometimes she perches on a rocky outcropping. 

He knows little about Brienne--only that she lives in the house at the top of the bluff, and that it’s larger than other houses in the village. He heard someone say that Brienne’s father was the lord, but human hierarchical structures don’t hold much meaning to him.

The wind whips her straw-blonde hair, and her eyes are still the color of the sky. She’s grown, now, so she comes to the shore of the loch less and less. He’s happy the entire day for a glimpse of her; she’s the _only_ living creature he sees these days. He can’t remember the last time he saw his sister; at least several seasons have passed. He’s lonely, but happier for it, somehow.

In his imagination, Brienne’s a bit lonely, too.

 _What is she thinking?_ Her expression usually seems placid and maybe a bit forlorn. He can’t tell any more nuance from the distance he keeps. Even if he went closer and revealed himself, she would certainly run. He has no idea how to explain himself, or even what types of things a girl--woman, now, would be sad about.

In all the years of his life, he’s never _actually_ spoken to a human. He longs to try and bridge the divide between them. Maybe, if he’s clever and cautious enough, he can rise from the water and speak without frightening her.

 _I saved you when you were a girl,_ he might say, _I_ ’ve _been keeping an eye on you ever since._

Maybe, he just needs to be a man to do it.

* * *

As it turns out, kelpies don’t know much about being human.

He knows his form is right. It’s not one he chooses, but something innately _him._ His sister, despite her disdain for humans, transforms much more often than he does. It’s a hunting tactic more than a genuine transformation.

 _I look like her,_ he thinks as he stares at his rippling reflection in the edge of the loch. It makes sense; they’re siblings, and his sister often said _you’re like my reflection in the lake._ He’s far enough in the woods where no one will find him--a small inlet he frequents since surviving on his own. His hair is golden, darker than Brienne’s straw-blonde, and his eyes are green.

He’s fairly certain he’s _never_ seen himself in human form.

It won’t do to rush his attempt, even though he longs to gallop out of the water as a kelpie and make himself known. So, he practices--walking around the clearing and talking to himself. He spends _days_ doing this because he’s wobbly like a foal on his feet, and his voice is unused. If he’s going to reveal himself, he won’t get a second chance. _Brienne._ He says her name aloud for the first time and loves the way the syllables sound in his voice.

Nevertheless, all the practice leaves him with several concerns about his approach. 

_Do I pretend to be a human?_ He may _look_ the part, but prolonged conversation will reveal the truth. _Do I just tell her the truth of it?_ Brienne might not believe him. He could change to prove himself, but that might make her run just as if he galloped onto the shore.

It’s a risk he’s willing to take, a risk that he _has_ to take. He’s spent so many turns of the seasons watching Brienne, thinking of her finite, fleeting life. He’s not a coward; he’s proven that before.

Several days pass before he sees her again. When she comes to the water, there’s a basket hanging off one of her arms, and a piece of cloth folded in the other. The combination perplexes him until Brienne spreads the blanket on the rock she frequents and pulls a book and some food out of the basket. He lets her take her meal in peace while he tries to calm his fluttering nerves. 

When he walks out of the lake, it’s as a man, and he’s pleased with himself that he doesn’t wobble on the rocky sand of the beach and keeps his head held high.

“Um,” he starts, and is quite proud of how steady he sounds, “Hello.”

Brienne, holding a piece of what appears to be bread, gapes at him, and the bread falls from her fingers to hit the blanket. He hasn’t been this close to her since she was a girl; she’s still _covered_ in freckles. She’s wearing men’s attire--breeches and a shirt, but her feet are bare.

Her face turns a rather spectacular shade of red, and she sputters but no words come out. She covers her mouth with her other hand, and her eyes widen in shock.

It’s then he remembers that humans wear clothes.


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Seven protect me, he’s beautiful._ So much so that, for a moment, Brienne doesn’t even consider why he’s walking out of the loch without a stitch of clothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this continues to astound me. Thank you all SO much!
> 
> Chapter count has been updated to 14. That still might not be accurate because I, chronically, can't write short things.

Some people say the fae creatures, deep in the forests of Tarth, will tempt a man to his death by showing him a vision of something he longs to see. What tempts each man is different--maybe it’s a long lost love, or riches and luxury, or glory on the battlefield. 

Brienne doesn’t know what would tempt her--maybe the chance to see Galladon or her mother, or the chance to know her sister. Maybe she _would_ fall prey to a Valyrian steel sword and the chance to prove her worth with it in her hand. She’d wander after the illusion, even as she admonishes and calls weak the men who went before her.

In _no_ fantasy Brienne’s ever dreamed does a man walk, nude as his nameday, out of the loch. She’s seen a naked man before; some men swim naked, and some in the village change clothes with little regard for who sees. Even if the man is young and handsome, Brienne always averts her eyes out of propriety.

 _Don’t let them think you’re lascivious,_ Roelle would tell her. _You’ve precious little going for you, so you must be as chaste as the Maiden herself._

There’s no looking away from this man; he’s something out of legend, a golden god covered in glittering droplets. Water cascades over his muscles in rivulets. Brienne feels her face heating, and she drops the chunk of bread she’d been about to eat. Then, she covers her mouth with her hand to hide her gawping.

 _Seven protect me, he’s beautiful._ So much so that, for a moment, Brienne doesn’t even consider _why_ he’s walking out of the loch without a stitch of clothing.

Reality crashes around her ears when the man stumbles a greeting.

Brienne’s never been praised for her social graces, and she’s also never had her mettle tested in front of a naked man. She manages a very hesitant “G-good afternoon.”

He doesn’t respond, but he does stare at her long enough for it to be disconcerting.

“Can I,” she continues after an awkward lull, “...assist you in some way?”

His mouth quirks upward; the gesture makes his eyes crinkle, “You’re Brienne.”

The smile makes him _more_ handsome. _His eyes are so green._ That’s a better focus than...the rest of him, so Brienne maintains eye contact and feels like she can’t breath. She doesn’t think she’s had so much trouble breathing since coughing up water from the loch over half her life ago. It’s an entirely new kind of drowning.

“Do I...know you?”

“We met, once, long ago.”

She raises her eyebrows, “If we were acquainted, I _think_ I’d remember...you.”

“I...should be wearing clothes, I think.” Brienne can’t figure out why he sounds a little sad about that. Then, his tone turns cocky, “Unless you just _like_ looking.”

 _I can’t take this anymore._ Standing, Brienne picks up her book and picnic basket, pulls the quilt up off the rock, and thrusts it at him. “I can’t--someone could _walk by,_ and then a suitor is even _more_ unlikely to marry-- _anyway.”_

Dutifully, the man wraps the quilt around his torso, securing it under his arms. He looks utterly foolish, but it’s better than the nudity.

“Does this count as clothes?”

“...Not really,” Brienne sits back on the rock, arms wrapped around her bent knees; he follows, mirroring her position. “I’ve no recollection of you. Can we just--you _walked naked_ out of a lake. Do you have a name?”

There’s another weighty pause. “I...don’t.”

 _“Everyone_ has a name. Do you not remember it?” Brienne didn’t see any sign of injury on him, and she had seen _all_ of him. “Do you remember _how_ you believe we’re acquainted?”

“I’d _never_ forget that.”

Brienne presses her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose and scrunches her eyes shut. Something about expressing her growing frustration makes her feel like it would be akin to taking it out on a child. 

When she opens her eyes, he’s looking at her with a guileless expression. There’s a bit of hope there, too.

“Please,” she speaks slowly, “just tell me the truth. Nothing you’ve said thus far makes a bit of sense.”

“You almost drowned,” he whispers and leans a bit closer. His golden hair is drying in the afternoon sun, curling in wisps around his cheeks. “The storm came on suddenly, and your boat flipped over. I brought you back to shore.” 

_His golden hair._ The way she can feel his gaze when she shuts her eyes. There’s something familiar even though she doesn’t know him, like when she wakes before dawn and looks out at the loch. _There’s no other reason for a man to walk naked out of a lake._ Once, her father told her how good it was that she accepted the truth presented before her, even if it seemed impossible.

All Brienne’s words are dammed up in her throat, so she reaches for the book in her basket. It feels like destiny that she brought it today. After a decade of reading it, the cover is worn, and it falls open to the page with the illustration of the kelpie. She spins it to face him and holds her breath.

The smile he gives Brienne at her recognition is almost heartbreaking. “That’s...close, actually. Mayhaps the person who drew that _actually_ saw one of us.”

“I saw another, once, in a book at Storm’s End. The illustration had the tail of a fish. I thought _that’s not right.”_

“...Because you remember?” 

“I _think_ I do,” Brienne answers, “I dreamed of you.”

* * *

The clothes Brienne brings don’t quite fit. 

The breeches are half a hand too long, and while the shirt is passable, no one would think it was bespoke. They’re _her_ clothes, and the fact that they’re too big should make her feel self-conscious, but there’s an odd sort of charm to the scene.

It takes Brienne a half hour to get back to him, and thankfully no one wandered by in that amount of time. He sits where she left him, wrapped in the quilt and staring out at the water.

Brienne passes him a chunk of hard cheese. “What do you eat?” 

“Anything,” he shrugs, “And...humans, I suppose.”

“...But not me?”

He shakes his head, “Not you.”

“But others?”

“Not in a long while.”

Brienne wonders if there’s consequences for that, but she doesn’t ask.

For all his talk of kelpies eating humans, he makes it through half a loaf of crusty bread, a sizable wedge of cheese, an apple, and half of the skin of weak wine. He’s staring at her in that disconcerting, yet familiar, way again.

"Have you been watching me since…?"

He nods in affirmation, "You grew so quickly."

“It’s been _twelve years_ since--” She’s afraid to ask about Galladon. It will open the door to the questions that haunt her as she tries to fall asleep. _Why me and not him?_ “--that day. Why now?”

"Your lives are like the blink of an eye. The more I watched you the more I hoped you'd believe me. Humans fear our kind, so I thought if I came like this, it would be better."

"I've _never_ feared you. I was too focused on if I'd gone mad for remembering something that couldn’t be real."

The relief in his features looks so familiar, so fragile, so _human_ that there can’t be that much of a divide between them. “That’s...good to hear.”

“Are you…” Brienne stumbles over what she wants to convey, “Just visiting?”

“After I saved you, my sister told me I was a disgrace as a kelpie. We grew apart, after that. This form is just a glamour, one _meant_ to be used against you. I don’t know how I should be any longer.”

Brienne doesn’t know him, not yet, and the span of his life seems unfathomable. There isn’t even a name she can call him. She doesn’t want him to walk back into the water and lose the chance to know him better.

“My father’s visiting the marble quarries on the far side of the island. He won’t be back for a sennight.”

“Are you...inviting me into your home?”

“Is that a requirement? Are you one of those Essosi vampires?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nevermind,” Brienne shakes her head, “If you’re not going home, you’re welcome in mine. We’ll figure something out from there.”

* * *

Podrick Payne is carrying a crate of silver through the foyer when Brienne returns to Evenfall. 

He looks back and forth between the two of them, “My l-lady,” he stutters, “I didn’t know we were expecting a guest.”

“We weren’t, Pod. It just...occurred. Continue as you were, please.” Brienne’s a _horrible_ liar, but thankfully in the year Pod has been at Evenfall, he’s never questioned her. The lad is just past his twelfth nameday; Selwyn brought him home the last time he went to the mainland.

 _Orphaned and passed around between people who didn’t want him._ Father couldn’t leave Pod as he was, so he brought him to Evenfall. Pod helped with chores, and Brienne started to think of him as a younger brother. Brienne hoped her father’s magnanimous nature would extend to a kelpie-turned-man who walked out of a lake.

 _We’re going to need a better story than that._ Pod would probably nod with enthusiasm if Brienne told the truth. While her father would offer his hearth to anyone in need, he _might_ not believe the truth.

“I’ll have Pia prepare a room, my lady.” 

“Thank you.”

Kelpies don’t have much experience in human houses, so he asks her a half-dozen questions until Pod returns. The room Pod takes them to is down the corridor and around a corner from Brienne’s. 

“Don’t leave this room,” Brienne tells him. 

When she returns, a stack of clothes, a pair of boots, and two books in her arms, he’s looking around the room in curiosity. At present, he’s inspecting an oil lamp on the bureau.

“You’ve returned.”

Brienne drops the clothes on the bed, “These are for you. The boots _might_ fit. We can go to town if they don’t. More significantly, you need a name.”

“A name,” he repeats.

“Humans have names. Do kelpies really not?”

He shakes his head, “We just...know one another, and we usually live alone or with family. There’s no need.”

Brienne can’t imagine not having a name; her mother chose hers, and it feels like a piece of her mother that she carries, almost like a memory. She takes the top book off the stack and holds it out. 

“It’s a book of the houses of Westeros--Seven hells, that probably doesn’t mean _anything_ to you. It’s filled with people’s names. Most people don’t choose their names, but you get to choose yours.”

“What kinds of things are humans named after?”

“Family members from prior generations--a son might be named after his father.” Brienne thinks of Galladon. “Sometimes people are named after heroes from stories or the past. Objects can be names, too--like flowers. Read through it.”

“What are you named after?”

“No one. My mother thought it was pretty; girl’s names in the Stormlands often end in ‘ienne.’ I’ll leave you so you can peruse it.”

He opens the book and flips through the pages. Brienne turns to go when he speaks.

“Wait, Brienne--I can’t read the letters.”

_Oh, of course._

“I’ll read some to you, then.”

The clock in the foyer sounds the changing of the hour twice, and Brienne feels as though she’s read through the names of half of the great houses of Westeros before he holds up a hand to stop her.

“Repeat the one you just read.”

“Arthur?”

“No, three before that.”

“...Jaime?”

“I like that one.”

Brienne smiles a bit despite herself, “Then it’s yours.”


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jaime._
> 
> He chooses the name because he likes the way the two syllables sound in Brienne’s voice. She has a lower tone than he expects, much lower than his sister or the few human women he’s heard speak. They always reminded him of twittering birds. Brienne’s voice reminds him of how everything sounds in deep water--muted and calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be floored by all your lovely comments! ❤️
> 
> Enjoy Jaime and his awkward attempts at humanity.

_Jaime._

He chooses the name because he likes the way the two syllables sound in Brienne’s voice. She has a lower tone than he expects, much lower than his sister or the few human women he’s heard speak. They always reminded him of twittering birds. Brienne’s voice reminds him of how everything sounds in deep water--muted and calm.

Just to indulge, he asks Brienne to repeat the name a second time.

_Jaime._

He may not be _truly_ human, but he has a human name, one that Brienne said aloud.

Brienne leaves him to get settled in his borrowed space, so he paces the room and fiddles with random objects, some of which he can’t discern the purpose of. There’s baubles on a table with drawers, but he doesn’t know if they’re decorative or serve a function. At first, the clothes Brienne brought felt odd against his skin, but he gets used to the way they constrict his movement. They smell like the blanket did, and the fabric is soft. 

The stack on the bed is similar--shirts and breeches and something fluffier that he doesn’t know the name of that seems warm. He puts the boots on and wiggles his toes. They’re the most constricting thing thus far, but that doesn’t mean the fit is poor. 

_Mayhaps that’s just how shoes feel?_

The window in the room looks over the bluff and out to the sea. He curls onto his side on the bed and looks at the vista. He’s never been in a bed, and he’s never looked out a window. He’s never had a name, and he’s never worn borrowed clothes.

“Jaime.” 

He doesn’t mind the way the name sounds in his own voice, either. He’s spoken more at once today than in any time he can recall. He says the name a few more times like the repetition will make it his.

Clouds float past the window, and he yawns as the afternoon catches up with him.

Jaime says his name one more time before sleeps claims him.

* * *

The boy from the foyer is looking at Jaime when he wakes. The sky is streaked orange and purple through the window; a single star is visible in the twilight.

_Evenfall._ The name of Brienne’s home makes sense.

“My lord,” the boy says--Jaime’s forgotten his name already. “Lady Brienne asked me to f-fetch you for the evening m-meal.”

Jaime sits up and feels _supremely_ disoriented, used to sleeping when he pleased with no consequence. Another yawn overtakes him, and he covers his mouth with his hand.

“Can you lead the way?”

The boy nods dramatically, and Jaime follows him through the corridors of the house. He’s still barefoot, so hopefully it’s just Brienne. _Are boots needed to eat?_ _There’s too many things to remember._

It’s not _just_ Brienne; a woman who must be Pia is stirring a pot. She has her back to the room, and her long, dark hair is in a braid. Brienne sitting at a rough-hewn table. Jaime assumes this is the place where the food is cooked. There’s a cookfire in a stove, and a pot, and other tools Jaime can’t name. 

“Humans need a lot of tools to do things,” he muses.

“I...can’t deny that. Pia cooked this, not me. I wouldn’t poison _anyone_ with my attempts.”

Pia turns her head a bit and says, “My lady has many skills, cooking just isn’t amongst them.”

“Blessedly, Pia makes up for my many deficiencies.” 

Pia fills four bowls and places two of them on the table. “I’m going to take Pod his. He’s in the stables, and he’ll forget it’s supper time.”

“Thank you.”

When Pia leaves, Jaime sits. Brienne pushes a bowl filled with broth in front of him. He recognizes a variety of vegetables--potatoes, carrots, maybe a turnip, and meat.

“It’s stew,” Brienne supplies helpfully, “Rabbit.”

After the first bite, he’s half-convinced that if his sister could try this she’d change into a human and never turn back. The broth is salty, every bite has the perfect balance of herbs, and the meat is tender. Jaime shovels the entire bowl in his mouth before taking a breath or saying a word.

When it’s empty, Jaime thumps the bowl on the table and pushes it to Brienne. “I like it. Another.”

_“Gods,_ my governess would backhand me for table manners like that.”

Jaime doesn’t know what a governess is, but he doesn’t like the idea of someone slapping Brienne. “Is that person still around?”

Brienne emits a single _ha._ “No, she gave up on me and sailed back to the mainland. I never became the lady she thought I should.”

He takes the second bowl of stew at a slower pace. “What does ‘becoming a lady’ entail?”

“Sewing, dancing, making polite conversation. I’m not beautiful, so she thought to make up for it with other womanly pursuits. Only I’m rubbish at those, too--well, I can mend clothes and darn socks well enough, but not embroider a handkerchief. The only dance I know is with a sword in hand.”

She’s eating her stew, calloused fingers curling around the spoon. The heat rising from the bowl reddens her cheeks. Her eyes still remind Jaime of the loch on a summer day--they reflect the sky just the same. He was glad to see she still had her freckles, too. She’d grown, but Brienne was the same girl he’d carried to shore on his back.

“Are you really not beautiful?”

The redness now is a blush. “Obviously not. I’m tall and broad as a man, and my face is homely.” She pokes the bridge of her nose with her index finger. “And I broke my nose falling off a horse, so now it’s crooked.”

Maybe her mouth is a little too broad, or there’s a few too many freckles, but those things don’t draw Jaime’s gaze away from her eyes or the shy smile he’s seen a handful of times already.

“I’m not sure what this...governess thought _beautiful_ is, but I’ve always liked looking upon you.”

“In secret, since I was a girl?” 

“It was only when you came near the water,” Jaime teases. “And it’s not a secret anymore.”

* * *

A human body--even the guise of one--is rife with oddities. On the third morning at Evenfall, Jaime _still_ isn't used to it.

Hunger and weariness aren't new to him, but the rumbling of his stomach every few hours is. Brienne puts seconds and sometimes thirds before him at meal times. Pia bakes sweets--pies and cookies and scones, Jaime learns, and he eats those, too.

Kelpies sleep, but Jaime goes to bed soon after the summer sun sets and rises with the dawn. It might be the strain of holding his human form for so long, but Jaime finds himself indulging in afternoon naps. The mattress and pillow are filled with feathers and smell like them. Geese were food, but the feathers are _sinfully_ comfortable. It's quite different from curling up at the bottom of the loch, but Jaime finds that he likes it just as well.

There’s a mirror in his room, so Jaime stares at himself after he rises. Hair grows on his face, something he notices on the second morning. He runs his palms over his cheeks, and the stubble tickles his skin. Lots of men have beards; he knows Brienne’s father does. 

_I’d slit my throat trying to trim it, regardless._

His sister said he was her reflection. _Two sides of the same being._ He never argued with her, even as he drifted away. The beard makes him less that, which bolsters something in him. 

Brienne’s days have a routine. She practices her sword work in the mornings, which Jaime discovers he _loves_ to watch. She’s strong and graceful in a way Jaime is certain she doesn’t realize. It generates a feeling he doesn’t have the language for--like the first chill of autumn or the thrill of gliding through the currents where the loch meets the ocean. There _must_ be a human word for it.

Sometimes, Brienne helps the boy--Jaime remembers, finally, that his name is Podrick. Although, she never uses his full name. It leads to a conversation about nicknames, another foreign concept.

“Do _you_ have a nickname?” 

“I don’t,” she answers.

“Why?”

“I just don’t.”

It’s not a satisfactory answer, but Jaime lets it go. He can’t pester her with every question that pops into his head.

When Brienne’s done with sword work, she breaks her fast, and does a variety of chores that Jaime slowly understands the meanings of. After the midday meal, she sequesters herself in a room with books and papers. Sometimes, she stays there until the late afternoon sun paints the room orange.

_There’s so many tasks._ Brienne’s day is divided into seemingly arbitrary chunks of time. Her base needs are met--food, water, shelter, but there’s so many _other_ things. She’s conscious of time, and there seems to be no taskmaster enforcing her.

_Do all humans live like this? Or is it something unique to Brienne?_

Jaime thinks the former--otherwise they wouldn’t congregate in towns and have lords and rulers. The things his sister scorned as weakness are order and community. He grows quite fond of the idea--it’s so much fuller, _gentler_ than wandering for years and years thinking only of himself.

* * *

On the fourth day, Brienne corners him with a pail and says, sternly, “Humans take baths.”

“Kelpies bathe in the loch,” Jaime replies; being contrary with a chipper tone irritates her, which he’s discovered is _quite_ fun.

“And humans bathe with _soap.”_

“You’re telling me I smell?”

“...Yes.”

Cleanliness was another new consideration. He sniffs himself and can’t help but agree with Brienne. It’s like the beard--which is filling out quite nicely--he’s never been in this form long enough for it to matter.

“Lead the way, then.”

Bathing must be an important part of human culture because Evenfall has an entire _room_ dedicated to it. There’s pipes along the wall and a tub that Jaime could _certainly_ fit into in his true form. Brienne turns the tap, and the tub fills with water.

“How does that work?” Jaime asks.

“There’s a natural spring under the bluff,” she explains, “It pipes it in.”

There’s a shelf with bottles and jars. He’s staring fruitlessly at the labels when Brienne nudges him in the leg with her bare foot.

“The clothes come off.”

“Recreating our fateful first meeting?” 

“Second meeting, technically.” Brienne crosses her arms and turns around. Jaime catches her reddened cheeks just before he loses sight of her face. “I’m just going to show you, and then I’m leaving.”

Jaime wants her to stay--losing sight of her makes his chest ache. He’d gone so long with scraps and glances that, after _days_ at Evenfall, he should be full of the sight of her, but he isn’t. 

The clothes he leaves in a pile on the stone floor. The water is hot, much hotter than any he’s been in, but the feeling is nice. Jaime dunks his head under the waterline and opens his eyes. He stays there until his lungs burn with the need for air--it’s such a _human_ feeling that he almost revels in it. He considers changing--Brienne would turn around and see a kelpie in her bath. She might scream, and Jaime doesn’t want that. Pod or Pia might hear, and they might come looking. 

Instead, he surfaces and shakes his head, “I’m proper by your standards.” Brienne turns slowly, hand covering her eyes like she thinks him a liar. “It’s just nudity,” he continues, “And you’ve seen what this form has to offer.”

She ignores him and passes him a bar of soap and a square of rough cloth; the soap smells like Brienne. It’s lavender, and it’s what she must use. 

“You have to scrub,” she instructs, “And wash your hair.”

Jaime’s spirits are high, so he chances the reply of, “Can you show me how?”

She’s shown him such kindness over the past few days, but Jaime grows selfish in her company. He wants Brienne to think him charming, but inept might be more accurate. Podrick is more capable a man than he is. 

Brienne raises her eyebrows, but she rolls up her sleeves. “Just this _once.”_

“Thank you.”

She drops the pail in the water beside him, where it floats like a little boat. Then, she dips the soap in the water and rubs it between her hands. It foams like waves breaking on the beach. When there’s enough, Brienne plops the suds atop his head.

“Close your eyes.”

“I’m not afraid of water.”

“Soap will burn,” she counters.

Deferring to her, Jaime closes his eyes. It’s for the best because he’s _certain_ they’d fall closed at her first touch. Brienne’s fingers trailing through his hair down to where it brushes his collarbone are like nothing he’s ever felt. She scratches her nails against his scalp, and Jaime bites back a groan. It’s tactile, and _wonderful_. Jaime _tingles_ where Brienne touches him, and he’s overcome with the urge to lean in, to ask for more.

_Is this why my sister beds the men she lures from the shore?_ Is she seeking this contact, however fleeting it might be? Does she want to feel someone’s skin against hers, even if it ends in their demise? 

Brienne’s fingers reach the base of his neck, and the breathy sigh leaves Jaime of its own volition. It makes her pause.

“Are you...alright?”

_“Mhm,”_ he shakes his head and sends water and bubbles scattering, “This just feels nice.”

_Nice_ is a gross understatement because by the time Brienne dumps the pail of warm water over his head to rinse the soap out, Jaime feels his cock stirring under the water. It’s a reaction he _absolutely_ doesn’t know what to do with. _Desire--_ for the contact, for Brienne to say the name she spoke to him for the first time, for her to look in his direction now that she _knows_ he’s looking back. 

When the soap is gone, Brienne drops the pail in the water again. Thankfully, there’s enough bubbles to hide Jaime’s growing reaction _._

“You can do the rest yourself,” she explains, “Just scrub everything.”

“I couldn’t...convince you to?”

Brienne rolls her eyes, _“No.”_

When she leaves, Jaime slides his hand under the water and does as Brienne bid him.


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, “Jaime, do you realize that you ask _a lot_ of questions?”
> 
> “There’s so many things here--tools, decorations, _books.”_ Jaime’s tone is chipper, as usual, but there’s an unease underneath that Brienne is learning to notice. “You have my apologies if I’m irritating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still grateful for and amazed by all of your wonderful comments! I hope you enjoy the chapter.

It’s late morning--Brienne is in her father’s study, and Jaime is _looming._ He looms quite frequently, and Brienne has lost count of the number of times she turned to find them nearly nose-to-nose. Jaime being at her heels reminds Brienne of the first months after Podrick arrived at Evenfall. He followed her like a duckling, stumbling through asking after ways he could help.

 _Podrick is afraid of being sent away._ When Brienne realized that, her demeanour towards him softened considerably. It was hard to stay irritated at a child who’d been cast aside.

It was much, _much_ easier to be irritated by a grown kelpie-turned-man breathing down her neck asking after the meaning behind the list of sums on a page. Or, earlier when he asked her to identify _everything_ in the kitchen. Or, before that when he did the same thing with all the objects in their barn.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, “Jaime, do you realize that you ask _a lot_ of questions?”

“There’s so many _things_ here--tools, decorations, _books.”_ Jaime’s tone is chipper, as usual, but there’s an unease underneath that Brienne is learning to notice. “You have my apologies if I’m irritating.”

“A little,” she stops herself from smiling, “but you’re giving me perspective. I take knowing these things for granted, but maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Thank you,” Jaime’s breath tickles her neck, “My sis--I mean, _others_ , like me--they say that humans are like beasts.”

Jaime stands, and Brienne wishes he’d come close again. She shakes her head minutely to clear it. “Men can be like that, too. Westerosi history is filled with senseless violence and cruelty.”

“But you have lavender soap and _stew._ ”

“Humans are all extremes, Jaime.” He brightens a bit when she says his name. “Are kelpies and fae creatures not the same? Do you not take things for granted and act based on emotion?”

He paces to the shelf and runs his fingers over the spines of the books. _I’m making him think, too, mayhaps?_

“Time,” Jaime whispers after a moment. “We take _time_ for granted. Brienne, you’re so...busy. The last six days have gone so quickly. I spend _hours_ sitting and staring at...nothing, I suppose, but you rise at dawn, and even though I don’t understand the purpose of half of your actions, your day is _full.”_

“Of things that aren’t enjoyable.” Brienne closes the ledger and rises from the chair. “The tasks must be done though.”

“What do you find fun?”

“Swordplay. Reading folktales and histories about knights and heroes.” She pauses. “I...used to like swimming, but not since--”

 _Galladon drowned._ Brienne still hasn’t been able to ask about her brother. _Did Jaime not see him? Did another kelpie get to him first?_

“Do you miss swimming?”

“...I do..”

“Do you want to do something _I_ find fun?”

“I’m supposed to go into town this afternoon, and we need a plan for what to tell Father.” _That_ kept her awake the night prior; her father will see through any lie.

“We’ll come up with something while we’re out.” Jaime grins, “I can be your ride.”

* * *

“It’s awkward if you watch.”

“Has anyone _actually_ seen you do it?”

“Well...no, but I need to remove my clothes first.”

“You had no trouble with me seeing in the bath,” Brienne counters. It’s improper, but she wouldn’t _mind_ seeing all of Jaime again. Not if he’s discomfited by it, though. She does as he bids her and turns away. 

“This is different.” There’s a rustle of fabric. “It’s...the truth, I suppose.”

Jaime sounds a bit frightened to be himself.

“Tell me when.”

“You’ll know.”

Strangely, Brienne _does_ know. Jaime’s true form exists only as a memory _,_ and she finds herself afraid to turn around. 

_“Oh._ You’re _beautiful.”_

Blurting that was _not_ Brienne’s intention; embarrassment floods her, and she presses her hand against her mouth to cease any further commentary that might tumble out. Brienne’s glad Jaime can’t react as a human would. She can imagine the teasing, and that’s indignity enough. His coat is gray and shaggier than that of a horse. Brienne remembers him being darker, but his mane and tail are the same gold as in her dreams. 

Brienne takes the steps needed to get to him and holds her hand out but doesn’t quite touch. “You can’t speak like this” 

He tosses his head; she takes it as a _no._ Giving in, she runs her fingers through the golden mane. It’s wet to the touch, even though they’re far away from the water. Jaime leans into her--a gesture with so much of his personality that any lingering nervousness evaporates.

 _He always wants more._ More food, more attention, more questions. The sentiment pours out of Jaime like he’s never had anyone to look after him before.

“You’re always wet.” She remembers reading that in her book; the water was part of him. Brienne pulls her hand away, but it’s dry. “That’s...eerie.”

Jaime huffs.

“Not bad,” she amends, “I remembered you _mostly_ as you are. I thought you were bigger, but I was just smaller.” Brienne kneels to where Jaime discarded his clothes, folds them, and stuffs them in her satchel. “We should go through the wooded path to town; people will notice you.”

_No one will think he’s just a horse._

There’s no saddle or bridle, but Brienne is tall enough to manage. She can grip the wet strands of his golden mane for purchase.

“I’m heavy,” she whispers like an apology.

Jaime’s answer to that is to show her just how fast he can gallop through the woods.

* * *

People in town are _staring,_ and maybe Jaime should've stayed at home.

Everyone knows her; Brienne's family has managed the mines and governed the island for an age. Knowing her means they notice Jaime next to her. From their stares, they also notice how handsome he is, even in her ill-fitting clothes. Brienne tried some of her father's old things, but they were comically oversized.

Jaime's asking his usual barrage of questions, and he's not whispering them.

"What happens there?"

"It's a cobbler; he makes shoes," she whispers, “which you need.” Jaime chose to be barefoot at Evenfall, but today he’s shuffling awkwardly in the borrowed boots. 

_Better than leading a kelpie through town._ Unless Jaime can do something to tone down the otherworldliness.

They run her errands, which includes the cobbler and a stop at the storefront that imports fabric from the mainland. Like a bored child, Jaime touches every bolt and comments on the patterns and colors. The clerk barely hides a bemused grin, and Brienne is glad when they’re done.

“I’m hungry.”

She sighs, “We ate our midday meal but...alright.”

There’s a shop with meat pies that Brienne always convinces herself she doesn’t need to indulge in. She purchases two for each of them and a few to take home to Pod and Pia. They sit at a table under the window, and a serving girl brings them watery ale. Brienne isn’t fond of it, but she needs something to wash down the buttery crust.

“Your food,” Jaime’s beard is covered in pastry crumbs, “is _so_ good.”

Brienne’s response is on the tip of her tongue when a man, further in his cups than is maybe appropriate for the mid-afternoon, calls out to the serving girl.

 _“Wench,_ I’d like to see your pretty face again holding a fresh flagon of ale.”

The serving girl giggles demurely and comes to the table to sit on the edge to refill the man’s cup. Brienne watches out of the corner of her eye, willing to step if the man does something untoward.

“There, my lord,” she blinks at him, coy, and leans closer. Her ample bosom spills out of her bodice. “There’s _more_ , too, if you’re willing to wait until the end of my shift.”

 _As long as the girl is interested._ Jaime is watching them, too--probably absorbing their interactions. Brienne’s unsure if that’s a good thing.

When they’re back outside, she’s a few paces ahead when Jaime says, “So, wench.”

Brienne rounds on him and stomps back down the path, “That’s _not_ my name.”

“It’s a nickname, right?” Jaime sounds proud of himself. “You said you didn’t have one.”

“It’s _not_ a nickname, it’s...sort of an insult.”

Jaime tilts his head; Brienne can’t tell if the confusion is genuine, or if he’s trying to rile her up. “The serving girl _liked_ it; she was trying to get that man to mate with her.”

“Mate,” she repeats. The word is so... _animal_ that Brienne doesn’t know why she’s blushing. Chickens mate, cows mate, _kelpies_ probably also-- 

_“Fuck,”_ Jaime says it like he Brienne is confused.

_“I know what you meant.”_

“Why would she want him if he insulted her?”

The potential complexities of human courtship are _not_ something Brienne wants to explain. “The word has this...connotation. Maybe she’s used to being called it, and it doesn’t bother her.”

 _“Wench,”_ Jaime repeats, “It’s fun to say.”

She doesn’t have the heart to rain on Jaime’s amusement, so she just repeats, “My name is Brienne.”

* * *

Brienne has _just_ enough time to drop her pack onto the rocky beach before Jaime crashes them into the water of the loch.

The water is up to her knees when she says, “You could’ve let me take my boots off.”

Jaime huffs and shakes his head, but _his_ clothes and boots are nice and dry on the beach and hers are filled with water. The only way to keep her clothes dry would’ve been to strip to her smallclothes.

_I’m not doing that._

The water makes Brienne anxious, and it manifests in her tightening her grip on Jaime’s mane as they sink deeper into the water. It’s warm, as warm as it was the day Galladon drowned. The sky is the same blue as right before the storm came in. 

She told Jaime she missed swimming, but now that they’re here, she feels a little sick.

Jaime stops--only his head is above the water, now. Brienne has one arm around his neck. She could touch the bottom but not for much longer. She takes a deep breath and cards her fingers through the golden mane.

_I live on a damned island; this should not be a problem._

She’s thinking of Galladon, of his bloated body on the shore, of sinking under the waves. Her lungs filled with water as her strength faded. It takes Brienne a moment to realize she’s crying.

Jaime’s kelpie hearing must be more acute because he turns his head, their eyes meet, and then Brienne is sinking into the water. Her feet touch the bottom and she stands, pushing her hair back out of her face when she surfaces. 

There’s a wet, human Jaime in front of her. “What did I do?”

“N-nothing.”

 _“Wench,”_ The irritation is clear through the damned nickname. “I know what tears are.”

The water from her hair and the tears run together on her face, “Of all the things to _not_ need to ask about.” 

“Tell me,” Jaime’s tone is demanding. 

“The water.”

“I won’t let you drown,” he sounds mildly offended, “I think I proved that once.”

“It’s not _you_ ,” she balls her hands into fists under the water and snaps at him. “Galladon, my brother--I wasn’t alone in the boat that day.”

“Your brother,” Jaime echoes, “I didn’t know you had a brother.’

“He drowned,” Brienne closes her eyes, “on the same day I _didn’t._ I wondered, for _so_ long, why I was saved and Galladon wasn’t. _He_ was Father’s firstborn.”

“Do you think I _chose_ between the two of you?”

“N-no--I don’t know. I did for a long time, but then I met you, and I--”

Jaime puts his hands on her shoulders, “I _swear_ to you, I only saw you.”

Brienne half wants to reach for him, but keeps her hands fisted under the water, “You really didn’t see Galladon?”

”If I had, I would’ve saved you both.”

“After the accident, an old woman in the village told me the kelpie that spared me would come one day to collect the debt I owed.”

“That’s,” Jaime chuckles, “ _not_ how kelpies work. There’s nothing a human could give us that we’d seek. Not enough to save your life, atleast. ”

“You’re different, though.” She swears Jaime’s hands on her shoulders tighten, but she might be imagining it. “You _like_ human things.”

“I’m one of a kind.” His tone tells her he’s not sure it’s a boon. “There’s no debt, but if there _was,_ it’s been paid in human food and by you suffering me calling you _wench.”_

“...That means you intend to continue.”

“I like how you _didn’t_ phrase that as a question.”

Brienne’s sigh belies the fondness growing in her, “I know a fool’s errand when I see one.”

Jaime slides his hand upward to the base of her neck and holds her there. Stubborn, Brienne doesn’t break eye contact with him. She likes his eyes--they show his inquisitiveness, his wit, and the compassion he tries to hide.

She wouldn’t mind being kissed right now; it wouldn’t be the first, but it would be the first Brienne welcomed. Jaime embraces her instead. He’s _very_ naked under the water--a fact Brienne temporarily forgot. Sinfully, she wishes she _had_ stripped down to her smallclothes. Hidden under the water, Jaime might not notice her stocky build and lack of feminne wiles. She could feel the wet slide of his skin against hers and still be hidden.

 _Roelle would absolutely flay me for this._ Her old governess is far away on the mainland, and Brienne never cared for her lectures anyway.

“I’m sorry about your brother.” Jaime’s hand is still in her hair, and his chin is on her shoulder.

“Galladon was reckless that day. We weren’t supposed to take the boat out alone. He goaded me, and I went along.”

“You were a just girl.”

Brienne shakes her head, “I knew better.” _And Galladon paid._

“Saving you changed me,” Jaime pauses, “and watching you made me want new things.” 

They sit together at the water’s edge until Brienne’s clothes dry. She covers her eyes while Jaime dresses, even though he was _utterly_ shameless as he exited the water. Jaime leans his shoulder against hers, and they watch the water as sunset approaches.

“What are you going to tell your father?”

“The truth, I think.”

Jaime glances at her, “Will that...work? A kelpie turns into a man and walks out of a lake to live in your house.”

“It’s like a fairytale, but I think he’ll believe me. I’ve got a day to figure it out.”

Or, Brienne thinks that’s the case until they walk up the bluff together, and Podrick runs out the front door yelling, “Lady Brienne! Lord Selwyn returned a day early!"


	6. Part VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dread that floods Jaime at the sight of Podrick running out of Evenfall’s front door is so palpable it nearly knocks him down. Brienne freezes and grabs him by the elbow; her grip is vice-tight.
> 
> _I have something I could lose._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I love reading your thoughts and predictions.

The dread that floods Jaime at the sight of Podrick running out of Evenfall’s front door is so palpable it nearly knocks him down. Brienne freezes and grabs him by the elbow; her grip is vice-tight.

 _I have something I could lose._ Brienne’s company, her hospitality, his very _name_ and all the fondness for humanity he’s gained. There’s a fifth meat pie in Brienne’s satchel that Jaime _thinks_ is for him--otherwise there’s an odd number for Podrick and Pia. He wants it to be true because it means Brienne thought of something that would make him happy.

His sister would mock him mercilessly for the weakness, for becoming fond so quickly of a house filled with humans with their short lives. _Blink and they’ll be dead_ , _and you’ll be alone again._

“I can go jump in the loch,” Jaime says with a chipperness he doesn’t feel. “I’m quite good at hiding.”

“No, but you can stay out here if you’d like.”

_She looks so calm._

“I’ll come; it’s my fault you have to explain...this.”

Brienne’s father is in Evenfall’s dining room. He has his back to the door and is looking at a portrait above the mantle. The portrait is of a blonde woman who must be Brienne’s mother--she has the same straw-blonde hair and freckles.

Jaime’s never been in this room; since his arrival, they’ve eaten at the table in the kitchen. This looks like a room where a human would wear shoes.

“Welcome home, Father.”

He turns and looks at Brienne, which means he sees Jaime’s head poking around the doorframe. Her father looks much like he did a decade ago--a bit grayer, but still bearded and taller and broader than Brienne. His eyes are just like hers.

“Brienne, some men from the docks informed me they saw you in town with a man _none_ of them recognized.”

Her mouth falls open, a bit like a fish, and Jaime would laugh if his stomach wasn’t in knots. “That’s...true,” Brienne says.

“Am I to assume it’s the very same man who is hiding behind you in the door?”

“...Yes,” Brienne steps aside and puts her hand between Jaime’s shoulders to push him forward. “This is Jaime. Jaime, this is my father, Selwyn Tarth.”

“Good...evening.” Jaime doesn’t exactly have human greetings down, but he saw men in town hold out their hands, so he does that. Selwyn takes it, but clears his throat when Jaime doesn’t let go.

_Ah, there’s a time limit on that gesture._

“Brienne, would you care to tell me _how_ you and Jaime met and why he’s at Evenfall? I know most everyone in town, and _no one_ recognized him.”

“Jaime…” Brienne takes a deep breath; Jaime just holds his, “...lost his memories.”

 _“Brienne--”_ Jaime interrupts. _That was not the plan we discussed._

Selwyn raises his eyebrows; Jaime doesn’t know much about humans and lying, but he thinks the reaction says Selwyn is unconvinced.

 _“How_ did you meet him?”

“...At the loch,” Brienne answers, “He needed a place to stay, so I offered Evenfall. I thought you’d do the same.”

Jaime is _utterly_ confused when Selwyn smiles; his daughter lied to him, _poorly,_ and let a strange man into their home while he was away. _Maybe he’s gone mad. That happens to humans, right?_

“Are you using my hospitable nature against me, Brienne?”

“N-no, Father, I just saw a person in need--” Brienne is floundering, but Jaime doesn’t know how to help.

“You could’ve taken him to the septas in town; they have a house for people in need.”

“I--I didn’t think of that.”

Selwyn starts chuckling and leans his elbow against the mantle, “Daughter, your skills are many, but lying isn’t among them.”

“Brienne, it’s fine,” Jaime takes her hand and squeezes it. “Watching you lie is...painful.”

She rounds on him and glares, “See if I _ever_ help you again!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jaime blurts, “I’m a kelpie. I walked out of the loch a week ago because I couldn’t abide just _watching_ Brienne for a day longer.”

_“Jaime!”_

“What? I’m here because you welcomed me. I want to stay, but I don’t want you to lie for me.”

Selwyn walks to the sideboard and pours himself something amber from a glass container. Jaime’s only had weak ale and red wine so far, but he might not mind something stronger.

“Brienne,” Selyn takes a sip, “You’re not one to get into trouble. Humor me, and start from the beginning.”

* * *

Jaime has to give Selwyn Tarth his due credit--he listens to the entire plot, which frankly sounds fucking ridiculous, and keeps sipping from his glass. Brienne does the bulk of the telling, but Jaime chimes with details as needed. By the end, Selwyn is sitting in a chair at the table, fingers steepled in front of him.

“That’s...quite a tale.”

Brienne bristles, “Father, you think I’m lying?”

He chuckles, “I just saw you try to lie; this story had _none_ of your tells.”

“So...you believe me?”

“Would it be offensive to ask for....visual confirmation?” Selwyn asks.

Jaime stands from the chair he’d chosen halfway through the story, “I don’t mind.”

The sun has nearly set when they go outside. Jaime doesn’t want to ruin his borrowed clothes, and he doesn’t share Brienne’s modesty, so he pulls his shirt off and tosses it aside. As he goes for the laces on his breeches, Brienne taps her father on the shoulder and turns around.

“Don’t watch.”

“A man claiming to be a kelpie is removing his clothes outside my backdoor.”

Brienne sighs, “I know how it sounds.”

“I have performance anxiety,” Jaime calls out. When all his clothes are off, he looks out over the bluff at the sea and takes a deep breath. 

Like earlier, Brienne knows when to turn around. There’s a little smile on her lips when she does; Jaime can just make it out in the fading daylight. Selwyn looks a bit like he’d drop whatever he was holding. Thankfully, he left his glass in the house.

“Seven hells,” Selwyn says.

Jaime would laugh if he could. Another large part of him wants to jump into the ocean. _I’d probably make it._ Instead, he stomps his foot on the ground. Brienne picks his clothes up off the ground and folds them; it’s the third time today.

Brienne pats his flank in encouragement, “See, Father?”

“I’m certainly looking at _something.”_

* * *

Jaime wakes the next morning in his borrowed bed.

 _Selwyn let me stay._ Brienne’s father also requested Jaime change back into his human form while he was looking--just for further proof. Brienne covered her face with her hands in modesty, but Selwyn hadn’t been so generous.

Well, the sun had nearly set, at least. Jaime must be developing a human sense of propriety because he’d been _very_ glad to pull his clothes back on after the fact. _Maybe it’s only Brienne I want to see me unclothed._ Changing left him vulnerable--kelpies _could_ be killed; their mother had been. Dragon glass and Valyrian steel, not that Jaime had ever seen either.

Brienne, hand warm on his arm, apologized once her father had gone back inside. There wasn’t any need--a moment of vulnerability was worth being believed.

Jaime turns onto his back under the quilt and stares at the ceiling. _One day at a time._ For now, he wants whatever Pia concocts for breakfast. Rising, he dresses in one of his handful of borrowed outfits and walks barefoot to the kitchen. Selwyn is the only one there, eating a bowl of porridge.

Pia’s porridge is laced with honey, cinnamon, and dried fruit. Jaime’s stomach grumbles loud enough that Selwyn turns and notices.

“Ah, good morning.”

“...Good morning,” Jaime replies. There’s more courtesies here Jaime doesn’t know--men bow, shake hands, call one another _lord_ and _ser._ Pod calls Brienne and Selwyn _lord_ and _lady._ “...Lord Selwyn?”

Selwyn laughs, but Jaime can’t read into it. “That’s unnecessary. Sit. I’ll get you some of Pia’s porridge.”

Awkwardly, Jaime does, occupying himself with the task of eating when Selwyn places the bowl before him. There’s toast, too, with butter and jam. Jaime could eat three bowls.

“Thank you.”

“I’m still trying to understand what I saw last night,” Selwyn shakes his head. “And that a _kelpie_ saved my daughter all those years ago.”

“Brienne told me about her brother,” Jaime looks at his porridge, “I’m sorry.”

“I’d have no children if you hadn’t carried her to shore. For that, you have my gratitude.”

Jaime looks up to meet Selwyn’s gaze. As a kelpie, he’d never cower; he doesn't want to as a man, either. “Is that why you’re letting me stay?”

Selwyn shrugs, “Partially. Brienne asks for so little that I’m weak to her when she does. Now that she’s out of earshot, I would like to ask what your intentions are for revealing yourself.”

“I’ve watched her since she was a girl.”

“Why?”

“I…” _Needed to see her, wanted to know her._ “I wanted to keep her safe.”

“From other kelpies?”

“From anything that would harm her.” _Other kelpies, fae creatures in the forest, nature, men._

“Do you intend to remain in this form?”

“I don’t know,” Jaime admits, “I _want_ to, but it’s a glamour. I don’t know how to be a human, and I’ve nothing to offer. Before I met Brienne, I didn’t even have a _name_.”

Selwyn looks at him for a long moment. Jaime can’t tell if his expression is thoughtful or scrutinizing.

“A man in town told me Brienne was laughing yesterday,” Selwyn sips his tea. “My daughter has grown up lonely--if you offer her happiness, that’s a gift.”

_Do I offer Brienne that?_

“I enjoy her company.” That phrasing feels so _pale--_ like weak sunlight in the depths of the water. It seems like enough light until surfacing, but actual daylight is brilliant and blinding. Jaime doesn’t want to go back to watching her, unknown, from a distance. “The last week has been fuller than entire decades before it.”

“Have you told Brienne you feel that way?”

“No,” he answers, “Should I?”

Selwyn’s smile is a bit sad. “We take things-- _people_ for granted. Then, they’re lost to us, and we can’t tell them how important they are. It’s never a bad thing to share your love with the person you feel it for.”

“Love?” Jaime echoes.

Brienne’s father stands and takes his bowl and cup to the wash basin. Jaime is as fascinated by the waterpump there as he had been in the washroom. 

“It’s just something to think about,” Selwyn says, “And while you do so, there’s always room for another at Evenfall. We might even find you useful at the barn or the garden.”

Jaime makes himself a second bowl of porridge, _two_ more pieces of toast, and lets the word _love_ bounce around in his mind.

* * *

“Useful in the barn or the garden” turns out to mean being a kelpie and helping pull things. His sister would rage at the indignity of being used as a common horse, but Jaime doesn’t mind. He wouldn’t want to be locked in a stable or fed apples and carrots like the other horses at Evenfall, but the work goes quickly because kelpies don’t tire.

Pod _screams_ the first time he sees Jaime as a kelpie, and Pia laughs at him for five minutes. 

“I always liked the old stories,” she says, “It’s nice that they’re true.”

A week passes that way. Everytime, Brienne whispers her gratitude into his ear and rests her cheek against his neck, and that is a treat enough.

The scones and tea Pia usually has waiting after are a lovely reward, too.

Brienne teaches Jaime to write his name and hands him a book she used to learn from as a girl. It’s filled with the alphabet and stories told in two or three sentences with pictures. 

“Recording ideas like this for the next generation to know,” he says to Brienne, “it’s so _human.”_

“Well, our lives are short and our memories aren’t reliable.”

“You think of all these ways to compensate.” Humans use tools to adapt and solve problems. Kelpies certainly hadn’t changed in an age; maybe Jaime was the first to do so. “Don’t underestimate the cleverness of your adaptability.” 

Her cheeks redden the slightest bit at the compliment, which is strange because it’s more about humanity than Brienne specifically. Not that there isn’t plenty to praise about Brienne. 

“You learn quickly,” she deflects.

“Do most men know how to read?”

She shakes her head; her hair is braided today, and the motion tugs the plait over her shoulder. “Not many, no. Schooling costs money, so only the wealthier can afford it.”

Jaime learns the letters to form words and then basic sentences; it’s slow, and he’ll probably never be some human scholar, but if he’d like to read over Brienne’s shoulder or get through the kelpie chapter in her worn book of folktales. 

It would be nice to share that with Brienne because it’s good to learn about the things she loves. Maybe Jaime can earn a place among them.

Jaime catches her hands in his one afternoon; they’re in the stable, and he’s put his clothes back on--mostly for her comfort. Brienne touches him more as a kelpie than as a man, and Jaime wants to change that. Having her on his back, resting her cheek against his mane is a fine thing, but it’s nothing compared to holding her human hands in his. 

“Wench,” Jaime says in a whisper; he still doesn’t know the connotation of the nickname, but he doesn’t think it would behoove him for Selwyn to hear it. _Maybe I should look it up._

“What is it?” The expression in her eyes isn’t quite wary, more like nervous. He wants to learn to read her like a book, like the weather and the sea.

“I wanted to thank you,” he starts because gratitude is the easiest emotion. “And...attempt to tell you the rest.”

“The...rest?”

“I...like it when you touch me,” Jaime _really_ doesn’t know the human way to articulate what’s between them.

Brienne raises a pale brow, “Like when I scratch behind your ears?”

“Well, _yes,_ but I meant as a man, not a kelpie. Whenever you touch me, I just wish I was a human so I could return it.”

“R-return it?”

“Like this...or more. I’d like more.” A little tug forward and Brienne is against him. Jaime drops his forehead to her shoulder. “Doesn’t it feel like watching a thunderstorm? Lightning hits and--”

“Has anyone told you you’re oddly poetic for a kelpie?”

Jaime chuckles, “No.”

“I...feel it, too,” Brienne admits.

“We should do _something_ about it.” She shivers at his voice, and Jaime enjoys it even if he doesn’t quite understand it.

 _"Wait,_ you...don’t know?”

The man and woman at the tavern come to mind. The courting dance between them told in words with subtle meanings, in glances and touches. Jaime knew what they were moving toward, but he couldn’t replicate the intricacies of it. _I’m just not human enough._

“Mating,” he raises his head and grins at Brienne. _“Fucking.”_

Brienne’s skin is _scarlet._ “Y-yes. Those are names for it.”

“Have you done it?”

 _“Obviously_ not,” she snaps, “Have _you?”_

“Not as a human. My sister does, but she...eats the men after.” Jaime isn’t sure why he’s telling Brienne this; it doesn’t help his credibility. If anything, it will scare Brienne away.

_“Oh.”_

“She’s quite wretched; let’s not talk about her.” He pauses, “And I’d _never_ eat--”

 _“Seven hells,”_ Brienne interrupts with her words, and then with her lips when she presses them to his. It’s brief, and her lips are dry, but Jaime _swears_ the earth moves under him. “You talk a lot.”

“Wench, that was a--you _kissed_ me!”

Brienne opens her mouth to say _something._ Podrick, from outside the barn, yells, “Lady Brienne!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the "Jaime discovers how great kissing is" phase of the narrative.
> 
> In the original folktale, the father is MUCH less pleased with his daughter falling in love with a kelpie, but I can't write Selwyn as a jerk.


	7. Part VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days pass, and Brienne can’t discern if Jaime is intentionally trying to drive her mad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoys the chapter! Jaime is...a lot ahahahaha.

Brienne’s oddly relieved when Pod interrupts them. It’s not that she doesn’t want to kiss Jaime, but that it’s too forward of her. Roelle’s lessons about the proper behavior of a highborn lady linger in her mind like cobwebs she wants to dust away. _Men desire for women to be demure. Never make an advance. A proper lord won’t approach you in a way that would dishonor you._

A few days pass, and Brienne can’t discern if Jaime is intentionally trying to drive her mad. 

The way courting _should_ go means nothing to Jaime. He wasn’t a lord; in fact, he wasn’t even a man. Jaime looks at her too long to be proper, touches her in seemingly unintentional ways--when passing something over the table at dinner, when they meet in a doorway. He wears clothes because Brienne told him to, and sometimes she peaks through her fingers to steal a glance as he changes. Roelle would scold her, but Jaime would grin and tell her to just _look_ if she wanted.

 _I shouldn’t want him,_ _but I absolutely do._ What if the experience is just novel to him? Brienne can’t be certain Jaime even understands what he’s putting into the air between them.

Brienne imagines if Roelle was there the day Jaime walked naked out of a lake and introduced himself to her. Roelle would have a _conniption_ if she saw that. The scene plays in Brienne’s head and makes her chuckle aloud.

Pia, who’s hanging linens to dry on the line beside her, hears the chuckle and asks, “What’s amusing you, Lady Brienne?”

The _lady_ isn’t necessary--Pia is family, just as Pod is, but Brienne knows to choose her battles wisely. “Truthfully, I was imagining Roelle’s reaction to Jaime.”

Pia’s tenure at Evenfall overlapped with the end of Roelle’s, so she starts giggling, too. “She would get the vapors and _fall_ to the ground. We’d have to carry her inside and use smelling salts. Jaime would do it again, though, and we’d be stuck in a loop.”

Brienne laughs harder, “Pia, thank you for adding to my imaginings.”

Imagining Roelle fainting in shock is _much_ less hazardous than imagining a continuation of the _actual_ kissing. Brienne might get the vapors herself if she thinks overlong on _that._

* * *

Jaime is watching her, elbows resting against one of the stall dividers in the barn. Brienne is raking fresh straw into a neat pile from where it’s scattered on the dirt floor. When she looks at him, Jaime smirks lazily at her. Somehow, after a fortnight in mostly human form, he’d grown _more_ beautiful. The beard suits him; although _someone_ will have to show him how to trim it, soon. Brienne assumes the task will fall to her. It will be intimate and devastating, and she dreads it even as she can’t wait for it. 

Brienne scowls at him to protect herself, “If you’re going to watch, there’s another rake on the wall.”

“I already helped quite a lot, wench,” Jaime counters, “The straw is in the barn because of me.” He’s not wearing a shirt, and the golden hair dusting his chest is just visible over the half-wall. He might be wearing pants, or he might not be. Brienne wishes for a drink of water either way. 

“Then go away and stop watching me work.” Brienne turns away from him and jabs the rake into the straw with unneeded aggression. Jaime exists to tempt her--golden and _always naked_ and charming even in his brashness.

“I _like_ watching you. I was thinking about the last time we were in this barn alone.”

It must be the heat that has Brienne so irritated; sweat is making her shirt cling to her back and her hair is damp with it. “I’m sure you were.”

 _It’s not as though I wasn’t._ It’s not as though she hadn’t been--not with a half-naked Jaime terrorizing her thoughts. She can’t tell how serious he is; she can’t even tell if _he_ knows how serious he is.

“We should kiss again.”

Like all human activities Jaime has come to enjoy, he seeks repetition. Brienne shouldn’t be surprised, and she shouldn’t take it to mean anything beyond the novelty of the experience. It’s her fault for being the one to press her lips against his.

_I just wanted him to stop talking._

“Why?”

“It’s new to me,” he’s still smirking, “And I think we’re _supposed_ to.”

“S-supposed to?”

Jaime rests his chin on his hand and leans further over the stall; his gaze pins her, and she stops raking the straw. 

“I like your reactions when I touch you. I want to see more of it.”

Brienne shuts her eyes and takes a steadying breath before attempting to respond. “W-we can’t just _do_ that; it’s not proper. I know...animals don’t have all these _rules_ attached to it, but humans do.”

“Alright, what are the rules?”

“A private act between her lady and her lord husband,” Brienne parrots something Roelle told her a decade ago. “I--I don’t think it _has_ to be that, and I think most people say that and act entirely differently.”

“So there’s rules no one follows?”

She can’t deny the contradiction. “There’s...a guise of rules. And it’s not proper to talk about how you broke them.”

Jaime is downright scowling, “So you learn the rules and break them in secret?”

 _“Fine._ It sounds foolish when you phrase it like that,” Brienne admits. “J-Jaime, I like that you’re happy here. I’m happy to teach you things, but I can’t handle being your exploration of _that_ aspect of humanity.”

 _There._ That’s the best she could articulate it.

“I know you peek at me,” Jaime replies, “And I know your heart races; I can _hear_ it.”

 _Damn his kelpie senses to the seven hells._ “That’s not the point. It’s not that simple.”

Hurt flickers across his features, “If I were a man, _truly,_ would that make you feel differently?”

“I--It’s not about that, either.”

“You don’t have to lie,” he snaps, “I’ve walked the earth for a _long_ time; I can handle rejection. Humans _should_ fear me.” 

Jaime's expression closes off--it’s like slamming a door; Brienne’s never seen him look so guarded. She made a mess of the situation and doesn’t know how to fix it. 

Brienne is silent long enough that Jaime asks, “Do you want me to leave?”

The finality of it, and Jaime’s sheer _wrongness_ propel Brienne from her silence. _“No._ I want you to--if you kiss me, and it’s solely because it’s a human experience you want to have,” she presses her hand over her heart, “t-that will _hurt_ , and I-I’m not sure I can recover.” 

He surprises her by vaulting over the partition; it confirms he’s wearing pants, but not shoes. _He really doesn’t like shoes._

“You won’t need to recover.”

“I--”

“You’re the reason I took this form. Meeting you changed me in ways I’m _still_ trying to understand. I went from thinking about no one but myself and my sister to wanting _more.”_

“M-more.”

“For myself,” Jaime continues, “Protecting you felt like purpose, and I thought I’d find meaning if I followed that.”

The enormity of the sentiment frightens Brienne. The guarded expression on Jaime’s face has passed; he’s smirking at her again. When he steps closer, Brienne smells her lavender soap and grass.

“I don’t know if I can be someone’s purpose.”

Jaime shakes his head, “More like the north star.”

“I-I can be a guide.”

“You know, If I wanted a human experience with anyone, I’d do as my sister does and wait naked on a rock. Surely _someone_ would have me.”

A smile tugs at Brienne’s lips, “I assume you _wouldn’t_ eat her afterwards?”

“That’s...I don’t think you’re supposed to find that funny.”

Now, she laughs, “I don’t.”

* * *

Pia calling that supper is ready interrupts them this time. Brienne takes Jaime’s hand, and they walk back to the house and crowd around the kitchen table. Her father gives them a too-long look more than once during the meal that Brienne does her best to ignore.

Jaime and Pod do the dishes. After, Jaime curls his fingers around her elbow and whispers, “Will you go on a walk with me?”

Something about his tone sends a shiver down Brienne’s spine.

Even though she’s lived here all her life, Brienne thinks Tarth is beautiful. The rolling hills, the craggy cliff faces, the waves breaking on the beach from Shipbreaker Bay. The tapestry of the landscape changes each season, and she doesn’t tire of the cycle.

Tonight, the moon is nearly full, reflected crisply in the still waters of the loch. It’s bright enough for Brienne to see the wildflowers, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. They don’t go to the water’s edge, but stop to sit in the grass halfway down. The vista before her and Jaime beside her create a knot in Brienne’s stomach.

“Is it odd that I love Tarth as much as I do?”

“No.” Jaime’s hand is atop hers in the soft grass. “Have you left the island?”

“I’ve been to Storm’s End.” Jaime doesn’t react, so Brienne turns and points to the bay. “It’s across Shipbreaker Bay. It’s a...town, I suppose. There’s a huge, old castle. I’ve never been further than that, and I haven’t been fond of boats, since…anyway, have you left Tarth?”

“I’ve been in the ocean, but not far; the currents get dangerous. Do you wish to leave?”

“It'd be lovely to go see more things, but I’d always want to come back.”

“Brienne.” 

Her name brings her attention back to Jaime, whose face is _much_ closer than when she glanced away.

“If _anyone_ comes running and yelling our names--”

Jaime cuts her off with a brief peck before he retreats to grin at her. He repeats the gesture but holds it longer the second time, moving his lips against hers. Their noses bump, and Jaime chuckles. Neither of them are terribly coordinated, and a tentativeness comes over the whole exchange.

 _We’re like children at a solstice festival._ Brienne knows it to be the case because that’s the only time she’d been kissed. Jaime reminds her of a hummingbird, darting in and retreating. She reaches up with the hand not holding his and anchors it at the base of his neck. Jaime’s hair is soft, and her fingers slide through it easily. He stills completely.

“I-I think it should be slower.”

“You’re the human.”

Brienne closes her eyes and kisses Jaime this time, slow and thorough like how she used to imagine a knight kissing a maiden in a story. Taking a chance, she swipes her tongue against Jaime’s lips. As a girl, she used to stare at this kind of kissing during town festivals until Roelle grabbed her by the ear and dragged her away, hissing _indecent._

It’s like a buildup of lightning between them--energy that leaves her tingling and in need of an outlet for it. Jaime opens for her, and Instinct drives him after that because he casts aside the tentativeness and meets her fervor. When his tongue meets hers, it’s heady and close, and she craves it _._ There’s an animalistic hunger to Jaime’s movements--he’s cupping her jaw, nipping at her lips when she dares take a breath. Brienne turns her hand over in the grass to lace their fingers together. Even though her hands are large and calloused, their fingers fit together. 

When he pushes her back, Brienne goes into the grass, pinned by Jaime half-sprawled across her torso. His movements are just as fierce, just as possessive--it’s a feeling she never imagined being directed at her. Jaime slides his tongue against hers a final time before pulling away, gasping.

Their chests are pressed together. Jaime’s eyes are wide and dark in the moonlight; he looks human, but somehow _beyond_ that. It makes Brienne’s blood rush through her veins. Desire collects within her like water rushing downstream. _I know why men go to their demise, even when they know the stories._ To be looked at like that, to be coveted and singular, even as an illusion, is--

“I _really_ want to mate with you.”

It shatters the tension; Brienne gives an unladylike bray of a laugh. She can’t even focus on the meaning of the words over the phrasing.

“Please, _please_ can we call it something-- _anything--_ else?”

“Fine,” Jaime’s expression has shifted back to the smug contrariness. Brienne _hates_ that it charms her. “We should fuck.”

Now, she’s scarlet, and even Jaime looks a bit admonished.

 _“How_ is that better?”

“Wench, what delicate _human_ term would you use?”

“B-bedding?” she stumbles. “Making love?”

Jaime brightens, “I’m fond of that last one; it seems very _human.”_


	8. Part VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more Jaime kisses Brienne, the closer he gets to her, the more acutely he laments being a kelpie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate everyone who's reading this fic SO much. Thank you for all the comments and kudos! 
> 
> I think eighteen is the final chapter count. It's time for Jaime and Brienne's magical adventure! And some smut, soon, and then...some more smut, and maybe more smut yet...

The more Jaime kisses Brienne, the closer he gets to her, the more acutely he laments being a kelpie.

He’s felt apart from his kin for an age--looking back, his sister probably noticed it  _ long _ before Jaime himself. She was so fond of making subtle digs at him, highlighting the ways she excelled and he lacked. She flaunted the things he detested, gloating over her seductions and kills, telling him he was a fool because he didn’t hunt as she did.

_ I’m not like you.  _

Knowing that he wasn’t like her didn’t make him know what he  _ was. _

When Brienne kisses him and holds him in her arms, Jaime feels a sense of belonging he never felt in the loch with his sister. The humanity in all her reactions is something he wants to submerge himself in completely. If only his own human reactions were the truth.

He wants to fit in at Evenfall, to count time as Brienne does and have it mean more than him being stationary while her human life slides past. He wants to value each moment that passes.

Jaime wants to be human. 

Perhaps he’s wanted that for a long time, only he couldn’t understand what it was until he walked out of the loch and into Brienne’s life. It’s been nearly a fortnight since his conversation with Selwyn, and  _ love _ feels so much more comfortable in his mind. The word flopped around like a fish on land, but Jaime’s caught it and feels much steadier. 

Being a kelpie is part of him, but his feelings for Brienne, and for Evenfall, are part of him, too.

_ If only there was a way. _ Jaime knows of no magic that will make a kelpie a man, but he doesn’t know much about magic at all.  _ My sister would know.  _ She was the one who consorted with the fae creatures in the woods.

First, Jaime needs to know if he’s welcome.

Selwyn is in his study, so Jaime raps on the door jam twice and peers into the space. He looks up and smiles--it’s more of a welcome than Jaime’s had from any of his own kin. 

“Jaime, come in.”

“Lord Selwyn,” he’s suddenly  _ very _ anxious, “I, um--I wanted to ask you something.”

He gestures to the seat across from the desk; the dark wood of it is so polished Jaime can nearly see his reflection when he sits. 

“It’s about Brienne. Well, it’s about myself, really--”

“It’s sweet,” Selwyn replies, “that the two of you are so fond of each other. We spent many years here, just the two of us, and it’s good to have the house full of people once more.”

Jaime shifts in the chair, taking a deep breath, “I...like it here, more than any place I’ve ever been. It feels....”  _ Like Home.  _ “I’d like to stay, if I’d be permitted.”

“As long as you’d like.”

“Would I be welcome...indefinitely?”

Selwyn can’t quell all the surprise from his features; he comports himself quickly, ”If you make Brienne happy, you always have a place here.”

_ Am I worthy of that kindness? Am I worthy of your daughter?  _

It’s a question Jaime isn’t yet brave enough to ask.

* * *

Brienne’s back is against the far wall of the barn, and Jaime’s lips are an inch away from hers.

There’s so  _ much _ of Brienne that he’s overwhelmed.

Brienne, just by breathing, dredges up parts of Jaime he didn’t know existed. Or maybe it’s that  _ they’re _ overwhelming--too many feelings rushing in, too many places where they’re touching. Brienne’s hand on his back, or her fingers laced with his pressed to the wall beside her head. Jaime slides his knee between her thighs, and her tiny shudder gives him more feeling in the space of a breath than he’s known in decades.

An animal part of Jaime’s brain screams his desire for Brienne.  _ Make her yours.  _ Jaime knows what it means to be claimed--his sister tried for their entire lives, until she gave up on him. He didn’t like that snare, and Brienne won’t, either.

Brienne’s the one with her back to the wall this time, but the reverse would be fine. There’s another instinct in knowing when to yield. Jaime holds her there and tries not to think about how he wants to call her  _ his _ and have that be returned. He can  _ almost _ block it out by the immediate sensation of being pressed against her strong frame, by the breathy moan she gives when he scrapes his teeth where her pulse races under her skin.

Jaime needs to catch his breath, and he needs to  _ attempt _ to use his words. It’s easier to  _ act _ than to try and articulate the maelstrom in his heart. He pulls back to look at Brienne--blushing scarlet and dazed in the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves.

“I want to stay here.”

“Of course.”

“I want to pass time  _ with _ you,” he continues, “I want to be human.”

The dazed expression shifts to a stunned one; Jaime loves how her eyes express her mood. “Is that...possible?”

“I don’t know, but I mean to look for a way.”

Brienne narrows her eyes, “Where would you begin?”

_ This  _ is the part of the plan Jaime doesn’t like. “I...thought to seek my sister. She knows more about the fae creatures than I. If there’s a way, she’ll know it, or she’ll know who might.”

“Let’s go ask, then.”

“Brienne--” he shakes his head, “I can’t take you into the forest; it’s too dangerous.”

A wave of irritation crosses her features, “I’m a woman grown, and I’ve a sword. You don’t need to protect me.”

_ I knew she would say that.  _ It’s fruitless, but Jaime digs his heels in, regardless. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Time moves strangely deep in the forest, but I’ll come back to you.”

“I’m going.”

Jaime loves her obstinate nature, her desire to protect and care for the people around her. Nothing dampens it, even when she’s afraid or weary.

“Would it...please you, if I were truly a man?”

_ “You’re _ the one it needs to please, Jaime; don’t change who you are for someone else. If it can be done, seek it for yourself.”

“For myself,” Jaime echoes, “I’m unaccustomed to...wanting things, I think.”

Brienne takes his face between her hands, “Why do you want to be human?”

_ Because I love you.  _ Jaime doesn’t think she’ll want that as a reason, even if he thinks his purpose is to give himself to her. “Do you remember when I said kelpies take time for granted? You were a girl when we met, and now you’re grown. That time only mattered because I was watching you change. I don’t want to miss  _ any _ of this.”

“I--I,” she stumbles, “I’d like you to stay.”

“But you wouldn’t ask me to?”

_ “ _ I couldn’t ask you to give up something like that.”

Jaime turns his head to kiss her palm, “I  _ want _ you to ask.” 

“It frightens me,” Brienne answers, “because I’d be  _ so _ happy, and I’m not sure that’s right.”

“I want you to want me enough that you would.”

Brienne nods, but she doesn’t give him that. “Will you let me accompany you?”

Even with the danger, Jaime still answers, “Of course.”

* * *

Jaime expects Selwyn to forbid Brienne to go.

_He should._ Every kelpie instinct Jaime has tells him that it’s the correct choice. _Keep your daughter here._ _Keep her safe._ The human part of him--the part he wants to nurture, wants Brienne with him.

Brienne tells her father of the plan. Selwyn listens through the entirety and doesn’t speak until he’s certain she’s done. Jaime paces the periphery of the dining room, stupidly wishing he’d worn his new boots. They’d been delivered over a sennight ago, and the dining room really  _ was _ a room for shoes.

_ A human needs to know these things. _ Jaime will need to know them,  _ properly,  _ if he wants to be a man.

“How long will you be gone?” Selwyn asks.

“I don’t know, truly,” Jaime answers, “I don’t even know what we’re looking for. It might not even be possible. My sister could tell us a tale and lead us into danger. The forest is filled with things meant to trick and snare humans. People who wander in don’t always come out.”

Brienne would need to be wary of food and drink offered to her, of distractions leading her from the path, of the way she answered certain questions. The fae delight in their games--it’s why Cersei gets along so well with them, and he never has because he hates the trickery and the machinations.

“My daughter will be in danger.”

“Father, I can handle myself,” Brienne sounds a touch offended.

“Against a ruffian with a sword, I’ve no doubt,” Selwyn says, “You can’t cut through everything in your path.”

_ Maybe she’ll listen to her father.  _ Even as he thinks it, Jaime doesn’t want to go alone. 

“Jaime, can you protect her?”

_ I’ve no magic.  _ He can carry Brienne somewhere safe on his back. He can keep her above water and give his life for hers, but then she’d be alone in the woods. If a fae tries to enchant her, he  _ might _ notice the signs. Kelpies are feared by some, but not all would grant them safe passage.  _ All for my foolish, desperate wish.  _

“I’ll do everything in my power.”

Selwyn looks between them, expression somewhere between resigned and proud. Jaime tries to understand the type of love that would allow Selwyn to let Brienne go.

Selwyn nods, “That’s all I can truly ask.”

* * *

Podrick looks like he might cry on the morning they’re to set out. He’s standing next to Selwyn, who rests his enormous hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

“It’s fine, lad,” Selwyn says, “She’ll be back soon. You’ll barely even notice.”

“Lord Selwyn’s right,” Pia chimes in, “Do your chores, and Lady Brienne will return even faster.”

Pia’s holding a pack filled with food that she passes to Brienne, who seems surprised at the heft of it. “Did you pack the entire garden  _ and _ cellar?”

Jaime thinks her tone sounds a bit accusatory, but Pia puffs up like a bird. “No one goes hungry at Evenfall.”

Brienne’s mouth tugs upward in a smile, “Or when they leave, apparently.”

Selwyn is making eye contact with Jaime, who feels the pressure of the gaze like he’s in deep water. He wants to protect Brienne, but he also desires to prove himself. Pod, Pia and Selwyn are clustered before the front door to the house like a family. They’re wishing Brienne well and will be there to welcome her return.

Jaime wants to be part of that more than he’s ever desired anything.

“Do you...need a mount?” Selwyn sounds like he’s afraid of violating some kelpie etiquette. He isn’t wrong--Jaime letting Brienne ride him  _ would _ earn him ire from any other kelpie.

“I’ll carry her,” Jaime puffs up with pride about it, much like Pia had. It’s one of the few ways he can protect her. “It’s my quest, so it’s only right.”

Selwyn nods in approval.

Podrick, Pia, and Brienne give him privacy as he takes off his clothes. Selwyn  _ still _ looks like he can't believe what’s before his eyes and doesn’t turn around. Jaime turns his back to the entire group and avoids Brienne’s father seeing him naked-- _ again.  _ He’ll congratulate Selwyn, someday, for gifting him a sense of human modesty, at least in this situation.

Jaime  _ almost  _ calls out that he knows Brienne is peeking through her fingers; it wouldn't be a bad final thing to say as a human.

“I’m  _ still _ not used to that,” Selwyn says weakly.

If there’s an  _ actual _ indignity, it’s the saddle. His sister would call it bondage, and ask if he’d fallen so low as to be chattel. If Jaime could speak, he’d tell Brienne that it reminds him of boots. He can suffer them for a purpose, but he doesn’t like them. Pia’s pack makes it a necessity, to say nothing of Brienne’s satchel. She folds his clothes and tucks them in her bag before climbing into the saddle. There’s no bit or bridle, so Brienne anchors her fingers in his mane. She’s tender, as always, and maybe Jaime will miss being with her like this, just a bit.

For now, they need to go to the loch and find his sister.


	9. Part IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Brother,” she greets them, and even her voice sounds dangerous, “It’s been far too long since you returned home.”
> 
> “I was just thinking it hadn’t been long enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter because I adore writing Cersei as a kelpie; it just _really_ suits her somehow.
> 
> I am behind at responding to last chapter's comments, but I will! They were wonderful, and I am so grateful.

Brienne finds herself speaking to Jaime even though he can’t talk back. He answers, but not with words--sometimes it’s a shake of his head or a disgruntled chuffing. The late-summer sun shines dappled through the trees, and there’s a pleasant breeze off the loch until they enter the woods.

“Are we going to your...home?”

Jaime tosses his head; that’s a _yes,_ then.

It’s a _long_ ride, and they’re further around the shore of the loch than Brienne’s ever ridden. Tarth isn’t a large island, only a few days’ ride across, but the center is wooded and mountainous, making it difficult to traverse.

“Would you normally take this route?”

Another head shake--probably a _no._

“It would be faster if we went underwater, wouldn’t it?” 

There were underwater caves leading from the loch to the sea. As a kelpie, Jaime could navigate the passages with ease. Even if Brienne could breathe, the thought of delving into that blackness makes her heart race in a panic. There’d been a moment when she forgot which was way up in the darkness of the water. Brienne tightens her fingers into the wet strands on Jaime’s mane. The seaweed feeling of it seems normal to her now.

_I don’t need to bother him with that memory. We can’t take that route anyway._

Eventually, Jaime stops. They’re in a clearing, deep enough in the woods that Brienne would struggle to find her way back. She’s to blame for that--she’d been lost in her memories and trusted Jaime to be their guide.

Brienne climbs down. The ground is mossy and feels spongy under her boots. Raising her hand, she runs it over his shaggy coat. 

“Are we here?”

Jaime doesn’t give any of his usual gestures as answers. Instead, he transforms, which leads to some awkward shambling as the saddle and their packs hit the forest floor.

“I haven’t been here in years,” he whispers, “You...won’t like my sister.”

They don’t talk about Jaime’s sister often. Brienne only knows they’re estranged, and that she seduces and eats humans. Neither of those facts are terribly comforting.

“Do _you_ enjoy her company?”

Jaime gives her a wan smile, “I did, once, mayhaps. I don’t think I knew any other way.” 

“It’ll be alright.” 

The sentiment earns Brienne an armful of still-naked Jaime. Her cheeks heat, but they’re so deep in the woods no one would spy on them, so she embraces him and tries not to think about the lack of clothes.

“She likes to say things,” Jaime says into her ear, “Cruel things. Whatever will cut the deepest. It’s usually something you believe to be true about yourself.”

“I’ve heard many unkind remarks.”

“But you’re still kind, and you still see the good.” He rests his head against hers, “I don’t want meeting her to be what changes that.”

“I’m not so easily swayed.”

When Jaime untangles himself from her, his smile is more robust. “She certainly knows we’re close; one of her little birds will have alerted her. Let me be the one to speak.”

“Are you planning to wear clothes when you do so?”

Brienne _thinks_ he reddens a touch. _Modesty._ He still parades around begging her to look, but his reaction to his behavior being mentioned has changed.

“She’ll think them part of my disgrace, but yes. Not the boots, though.”

* * *

They look alike.

From the first syllable out of her mouth, Brienne knows the resemblance is only surface deep. Under his glib and sometimes prickly exterior, Jaime is _warm._ His sister is just as golden, but there’s a cold remoteness to it. She feels like a creature that crawled from the depths of the loch.

She’s naked and looks as much like something out of a legend as Jaime had when he walked out of the water. Her hair is long and golden, and her shape is one that would tempt any man. Reclined on a rock in the afternoon sun, even filtered through the trees, it would be a scene any painter would die to capture. 

The title of the painting would serve as warning; Jaime’s sister is a predator.

“Brother,” she greets them, and even her voice sounds dangerous, “It’s been far too long since you returned home.”

“I was _just_ thinking it hadn’t been long enough.”

 _“Look_ at how far you’ve fallen.” She smirks, but there’s no mirth behind it. “Clothes. Trailing behind a human like some fucking pack mule.”

“I see you’ve changed little in our time apart.”

“If change means becoming like _you,_ I’m full well glad I haven’t.” She stands from the rock and steps toward them. “That’s the whelp you saved, isn’t it? Well, I suppose she’s more akin to an auroch now.”

Jaime bristles, “Her name is Brienne.”

The insult means little to Brienne--she’s heard worse from the boys in town. Jaime’s defense warms her, though.

“Her name matters little,” his sister answers, “only that she’s tamed you. Did you let her ride you here? Are you helping with their farm and sleeping in their stable?”

“I didn’t come here to hear you criticize my choices.”

She comes close enough to touch, and she reaches out to cup Jaime’s face in her elegant fingers. “Then why _did_ you come here, brother? Certainly it’s more than a mere stop to chat.”

Jaime freezes under her touch; Brienne is a few paces back, but she dares not venture closer. His poster doesn’t waver.

“I want to be human.”

Her answer is a laugh that makes Brienne’s blood run cold--cruel and, more significantly, dismissive.

“And you sought me for that...why?”

“Because if there’s a way, you’ll know of it.”

She chuckles this time; it’s less chilling, but no kinder. “And you think I’d tell you?”

“I think you’d enjoy mocking my quest, and because of that you _might_ be forthcoming.”

She tilts her head and raises her eyebrows, _“Fine._ I don’t know, but there’s a hedge witch deep in the woods who might. Rumor has it she was once human herself an age ago. Whatever power took her humanity might be able to do the reverse.”

“How do you know of her?” 

The query earns him a shrug, “I don’t tell you everything, brother. I’ve lied to you before, and maybe this is, too.”

“Could you just...not be yourself for once?”

“I’m not you, brother, I don’t seek to deny my nature.”

"Then why aid me at all?”

“Maybe I want to imagine your struggle and inevitable failure. You're a disgrace as kelpie; we might as well be rid of you." She shrugs and gestures to Brienne, "You mean to take that into the forest?"

"Brienne asked to accompany me."

She laughs again and tosses her hair behind her shoulder; it reveals enough that Brienne averts her eyes. _They have the same shameless lack of modesty._ "Human hubris--every fae in this forest wants to eat or charm you, including _me._ ”

Brienne speaks for the first time, "I can protect myself."

"You won't last a day, and he can't protect you from everything.” She turns her emerald gaze to Brienne, so similar, yet so different, from Jaime’s. “Girl, you’re a maid, aren’t you?”

Taken aback, Brienne stumbles, “I--I, yes. Why?”

She touches Brienne, fingers curling against her cheek as she had to Jaime. _Her touch is so different from Jaime’s._ Cool and still where Jaime is eager and warm. Brienne’s a bit proud that she doesn’t cower.

“There’s a sweetness to a virgin, isn’t there, brother?”

“Get away from her.”

She listens, stepping back from Brienne with sudden, feigned disinterest. “Not to my tastes, of course, but there’s many in the forest who won’t find her appearance an issue.”

Brienne _truly_ isn’t sure if she should be offended or not, so she asks, “What do you mean?”

“The fae, girl. Surely even you’ve heard the stories of what a prize a maiden is.” She walks back to the pool’s edge, golden hair nearly touching the ground. “Blood for a ritual, a prize to deflower. Easy to tempt and easier to lead to ruin.”

Jaime sounds the angriest Brienne’s ever heard when he says, “I’ll keep her safe.”

His sister laughs again, “Brother, you’ve _always_ been a fool. I suggest staking your claim on her before you wonder too deep into the woods, lest someone absconds with her.” She looks over her shoulder at Brienne. “If you’ve the mettle, and haven’t lost the ability.”

“Wait,” Brienne doesn’t even try to hide her irritation, “How the _hell_ do we find the witch?”

“Your whelp is practical.” She points ahead, deeper into the wood, “The fae call her Maggy the Frog. Walk that way with the intention to find her, and eventually she _might_ grant you an audience.”

* * *

Brienne was skeptical of leaving their belongings in the clearing, but they’re untouched when they return. She inspects them, just to be sure, and finds naught amiss.

“See, nothing here wants Pia’s sandwiches, dried meat, or apples,” Jaime says. “Well, except me.”

“And me,” she picks up one of the packs, “Could we walk for a while? I’ll carry our things.”

They divide their belongings among them and set forth. _That way_ is quite vague, and Brienne tries to keep Maggy the Frog in mind as they walk. It makes her feel rather silly. Her mind also seems more inclined to circle around how off-putting Jaime’s sister was, and the idea of her apparently delicious and coveted maidenhood. _Roelle always told me purity was my only asset._

Brienne normally enjoys quiet, but prolonged silence from Jaime in his human form is almost unsettling. _I wonder if he’s thinking on the same things I am._

“Your sister,” she breaks the silence after they’ve walked a while, “The two of you seem quite different.”

Jaime stops, mid-step, and looks up at her, eyes wide. “Really?”

“She was very...menacing.”

“How do you find me?”

 _“Grating,”_ Brienne answers, “but you’re honorable and kind.”

“She always said I was her reflection in the water.”

“You look alike, but little else.”

He gives her the gentle smile she’s certain no one else sees. Jaime grins and smirks and quips around Pod, Pia, and her father, but he only looks at her like this. “That’s _\--thank you.”_

The covering of the trees is getting thicker, and the afternoon late afternoon sun is piercing the foliage less as the moments pass. One of Brienne’s hands is unencumbered, so she holds it out to him as they walk.

“Is what your sister said about me true?”

Jaime raises his eyebrows, “About you being delicious?”

“I-- _must_ you phrase it that way?”

“To make you blush, yes.” He lowers his voice, “My sister knows the forest and the fae; mortals aren’t safe here.”

“So they’ll _know.”_

“I fear she’s right.”

 _What do I want?_ Brienne _knows_ what Jaime desires; he’s mentioned it explicitly more than once. She tosses aside lessons she’s been taught about propriety. 

“We could just...do so. Wouldn’t that solve the problem?”

He tenses, and she waits for his explanation before reacting. “Brienne, I don’t want to bed you to solve a problem.” She’s never heard him use such delicate human phrasing; it was always _fucking_ or _mating._ The word choice gives a picture of his anxiousness. 

Brienne decides to be as forthright as she can. “I--I want to, and we’ve _never_ been so alone. Don’t you tire of the hayloft and hiding behind corners?”

There was no privacy at Evenfall. Brienne wasn’t bold enough to knock on Jaime’s door in the night; it felt like a line she couldn’t cross. She’s not sure what her father would do, but, for once, she’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission.

“I’m happy for _anything_ with you,” Jaime says, “I do find myself... _frustrated_ when we’re interrupted. I don’t mind it.”

“I don’t want to be a liability, and if we both desire it...”

“If we’re cautious, you’ll be safe.”

“This is _your_ quest, Jaime.” Brienne shakes her head, “I want to _help,_ not worry about getting charmed and stolen.”

“The fae will see it as a bond. It will be more than just the physical.”

Her heart races. “Like a marriage in a sept?”

Jaime furrows his brow, “I--I don’t know. Is that what humans would do?”

“Sometimes, but not always.”

Pia had never wed, yet she was the one Brienne came to with questions in years past.

“For the fae it’s reversed; the physical act creates the bond.”

Brienne nods, “So harming me would be...taking something that’s yours?”

“I wouldn’t think of it that way,” Jaime rushes the words. “You belong to yourself. I thought I belonged to my sister, and watching you showed me a different way.”

“I don’t mind the implication.” In fact, it gives her a rush of warmth. Jaime described it as lightning when they’d first touched, and it’s just the same now. Belonging to someone is a good thing.

His whole demeanor changes--the last of the tension leaves his posture, and he squeezes her hand. “I’ve been yours since the day I saved you. This just makes it truer.”

The pack and the saddle make little noise when they hit the moss of the forest floor, and Brienne takes Jaime into her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I consider this fic a failure if no one has sex in a magical forest. Was that a mean place to stop?


	10. Part X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is why I don’t like boots,” Jaime tosses her clothes to the side, “They make it hard to take off clothes.”
> 
> “Seven forbid something impede your nudity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! It's time for the magical forest sex. This is the softest smut, man.

The setting sun plunges the forest into the darkness of night. In some places, the canopy of the trees is so full it obscures the sky, but the occasional star twinkles through. The forest, as if it knows they have a destination in mind, makes light of its own to guide them by. Some of the flowers and ferns give off a faint glow, and fireflies flit across the path before them. 

Jaime’s eyesight, even as a human, is better than Brienne’s. Nevertheless, the darkness grows too deep for even his vision to pierce. Brienne stumbles a couple times on roots, and Jaime catches her arm. Twice, Jaime offers his kelpie form to relieve Brienne of her share of the belongings.

Both times, Brienne refuses.

If she wants him to walk as a human beside her, Jaime won’t argue.

“The forest is beautiful,” Brienne whispers when they stop in a clearing with a willow tree. There’s wisteria, too. Bluebells and ferns line the perimeter, all glowly faintly. “It looks so different than the forest near town.”

“It’s almost a different place.” Jaime looks at the boughs of the willow until they seem to emit a faint light, too. “It’s meant to lure mortals in. The deeper we go, the harder it is to find your way back. We’re still on Tarth, but we’re also not.”

Brienne nods and looks around, “The air--I can almost feel it.”

"Magic."

"It doesn't feel malicious."

Jaime chuckles, "Of course not. You don't notice it until you're turned into a leafman for an eternity or made to wear the head of a donkey."

Brienne seems nonplussed by those prospects when she replies, "Should we make camp here?"

"As fine a spot as any." Jaime wonders if the prospect of camping feels as laden with meaning for her as it does for him.  _ Our first night in this damned forest. _

Brienne drops their pack, sighs, and rolls her shoulders.  _ She's strong, but she must be tired.  _ Jaime doesn't know whether to comment on it or if that would bother her. 

"It's so warm. We won't need a fire for cooking." She looks around the clearing. "There's enough light, too."

Brienne takes out the sandwiches; the food Pia packed kept perfectly.

"We should start with what will spoil," Brienne instructs. "There's fruit, too."

"I'll restrain myself from eating it all now." 

"You  _ do _ have quite an appetite."

They sit next to one another on the mossy ground and eat. Jaime isn't sure how long their food is intended to last, so he only eats what Brienne hands him. She’ll be more sensible about rationing than he would. He can forego a sandwich or two for the good of the journey. Pia packed a wineskin that Brienne pulls from Jaime’s hands when he takes too long a draught from it.

“Let’s savor that,” she scolds, “Can we...hunt in this forest? Are there berries or fruit?”

He nods around a bite of hard boiled egg, “If we cross paths with a fae and it offers you a meal, don’t take it. We should be able to pick things, though. Game shouldn’t be an issue, either.”

“We can last quite a while if we supplement what Pia packed.”

“I leave it in your capable hands.”

* * *

Brienne places her bedroll next to Jaime’s on the moss and stretches out beside him. 

Jaime looks at the sliver of firmament between the boughs of the tree. Brienne’s taken her boots off and unplaited her hair. It fans out onto the blanket; the light makes shimmer a bit. She wouldn’t naysay the color if she saw it like this. She’s more relaxed than he usually sees her, which is a feat given where they are.

Human physical affection is still new enough that he doesn’t know  _ how _ to touch her, only that he desires to.

He turns to face her. “Brienne.”

Hearing her name makes Brienne open her eyes. The slight glow of the leaves reflects in them, too. She turns her head, mouth parted slightly. Jaime wants to kiss her, wants to follow the movement to its conclusion and wake up tangled in her. He wants to be able to put himself between her and any danger and be her shield.

“Don’t look at me like I’ve forgotten,” she sounds a bit cross.

“Oh, I just wanted to kiss you.”

Brienne rolls her eyes, and the light reflected in them dances. “Straightforward as usual. I’d ask if your tactics usually find success, but--”

“I don’t  _ have _ tactics...or success.” He’s impossibly nervous, like someone stuffed a handful of butterflies down his throat and let them flutter about doing their business. Brienne’s tiny smile eases his mind a bit.

“Jaime.”

He hasn’t tired of hearing Brienne say his name. It releases the butterflies, and Jaime leans over and kisses her. He’s grown fond of many human activities, but  _ this _ might be his favorite. Kelpies have no expression like this, nothing that compares to the hungry little sigh that leaves Brienne when he touches his tongue with hers. Nothing that soars to the height of her hands entwined in his hair pulling him atop her. Nothing that makes Jaime feel like he’s burning where they meet.

Since that day in the bath, Jaime grew used to his reactions. It wasn’t the desire that felt so foreign, but the myriad ways to express and engender it. Brienne’s glance, or a smile, or watching her carry a hay bale across Evenfall’s yard. By the time he’s sprawled over her, his cock is straining in his breeches. Jaime shifts a bit, instinctually seeking friction, and Brienne startles out of the kiss and turns so scarlet it’s noticeable in the dim blue glow.

“You look like I felt the first time it happened,” Jaime teases.

“And w-when was  _ that?” _

“In the bath; the day you washed my hair.”

“B-back then?”

“Human bodies are  _ so _ strange,” he chuckles, “I just wake up like this some mornings.”

“I suppose it’s natural,” Brienne glances away, “I-I feel it, too.”

“Good; I don’t want you unwilling.”

Brienne’s shy and reticent, but the closer he gets, the more thrilled he is that he’s learning the tells of her attraction. If he overthinks it, he’ll lose momentum.  _ Start with something simple; we need to be naked. Or, more naked at least. _

* * *

They tussle a bit in their kissing. Jaime slides a hand under Brienne’s shirt where it’s ridden up. The material is light for summer, and it goes easily. Brienne inhales sharply when Jaime reaches the slight swell of the bottom of her breast.  _ She doesn’t wear anything underneath. _

Undeterred, he passes over her nipple with the pad of his thumb; it hardens under his touch. Brienne’s breathing takes on a fluttery quality when he repeats it on her other breast.

“Is that...good?”

“Y-yes.”

When her breasts are bared to the air, Jaime drinks his fill of her.  _ Smaller than my sister’s and so many freckles.  _ He doesn’t mean to compare them, but he’s seen no other naked human.

Brienne reaches for him, hands sliding down his chest to tug at his clothes. After weeks in his human form, Jaime’s used to clothes, but that doesn’t stop him from shucking his shirt before Brienne has the chance. Her exploration is more tentative, but the effect on the aching in him is no less pronounced. Brienne trails her hand down his chest, and now the ache is in his  _ very _ human heart.

She rises enough to pull her own clothes over her head. They’re even, now, and Jaime covers her body with his just to feel her skin. 

“You’re alright?” Brienne rests her hands on his back as she asks.

“I’m perfect.”

Jaime longs to taste her, to be flooded with her myriad reactions. He drags his teeth over the soft skin below her ear, scrapes his beard against the valley between her breasts, and loves when Brienne grabs at his hair. Every reaction from her echoes through his own desire like ripples over water. He doesn’t stop kissing her until he reaches the muscled expanse of her stomach. Then, he rests his cheek against her and looks up at her.

Brienne props herself up on her elbows; her pale skin is reddened, and she’s breathing hard.

“Wench.” She scowls, and Jaime laughs, “What do you request of your lover?”

“Lover,” Brienne repeats; he hears her heart speed up. “Who called us  _ that _ ?”

“Pia. She said it to Pod. I overheard.”

“She  _ would,”  _ Brienne huffs, “I’d like it to be accurate, at least.”

Being Brienne’s lover will be the easiest human endeavor so far. Grinning, Jaime sits and reaches for her breeches; Brienne lifts her hips. She discarded her boots when she laid out her bedroll, so it’s easy to push them to her ankles.

“This is why I don’t like boots,” Jaime tosses her clothes to the side, “They make it hard to take off clothes.”

“Seven forbid something impede your nudity.”

He makes sure to sound extra smug, “I’ll have less excuses, soon, if this works. Won’t you miss it, then?”

She’s in nothing but her smallclothes, but Brienne manages a mulish, “I should think I’d tire of the sight at some point.”

“I’ll renew your interest if that happens.”

It’s a bit ironic that  _ he’s  _ still wearing boots--the forest floor and his soft human feet don’t mix well. Jaime undoes the laces and tugs them off with vengeance, throwing them halfway across the clearing.

“We’ll have to fetch those,” Brienne sighs, “What if something attacks us?”

“Nothing would dare.” It’s not  _ exactly _ true, but the clearing seems safe enough. The words come out darkly possessive, and the need to make the connection tangible overwhelms him.  _ Words aren’t enough.  _

Brienne’s eyes widen at the change in his tone. 

When his clothes are abandoned, and only her smallclothes remain, Jaime settles next to her and reaches for her hip. He doesn’t venture further until Brienne squirms and nods. She slams her eyes shut when he slides his fingers further under the fabric. The hair at the juncture of her thighs is softer than Jaime expects. She’s warm and slick and arches her hips at his touch. The motion makes his cock ache to seek out any purchase he can find. When he enters her with a finger, she turns and covers her heated face with her arm. 

She opens her eyes just in time to see Jaime sucking her juices off his fingers. The taste is strange, but he likes her shocked expression and the feeling it gives him.

Brienne pales, almost more visible than the blush in the light, and nearly yells,  _ “What are you doing?” _

“Tasting you,” he shrugs, “My sister used to gloat about men putting their mouths on her. She got them to submit to her before she ate them.”

“Oh.”

_ Why, why am I talking about that now? _

Brienne smiles, nervous, and a fluttering wave of affection mixes with the overwhelming want. She bites her lip, looking down at his erection. Every ounce of blood in his body rushes to that singular point. Brienne’s tentative touch sends him sailing over the treeline and into the sky. He felt her hands both as a man and a kelpie--in his hair or on his shoulder, her fingers twining with his. 

_ Why did I bother with my own hand when hers feels like this? _

“Next time I’ll try it,” Jaime decides; then, he feels a bit sheepish. “I’m sorry; I need to know how to touch you.”

“I asked Pia about this, once,” Brienne says shyly. 

Jaime doesn’t understand her embarrassment; it’s only him, and he doesn’t know anyone but her. “All I know is from my sister talking about seducing her prey.”

It’s not the first time Brienne has laughed at his sister, “We’re well-matched, mayhaps?”

Every tender feeling is laid bare when Jaime replies, “I hope so.”

* * *

Brienne is warmer than the shallows of the loch in the summer sun. A similar feeling, too, because Jaime always liked to bask in the warm water if he was far enough away from human onlookers. He ends up behind her, face enshrouded in her hair. They’re nearly the same height, so he tucks perfectly against her back, knees bent in a mirror of her posture. 

It’s not like being his sister’s reflection at all. 

She tells him, before he enters her, that it might hurt and she might bleed, but that it will be fine. Jaime hasn’t moved, yet, and he’s a bit overwhelmed at the sensation of being so connected.

“Does it hurt?” Jaime pushes himself up on his elbow.

Brienne turns her to a bit to look up at him, “N-not really. Pia said it might not. More like...a pinch? Riding, swordplay--many things could’ve done it.”

“I’m not asking after your purity.”

“Maybe I’ll ask after yours?” Brienne’s quiet laugh echoes through them both. 

Then, she pushes back against him, lets out a stitled, shuddering breath, and it’s all the invitation Jaime needs. To rut against her is instinctual,  _ animal. _ What’s human is the in-between--to know how to cant his hips forward to meet Brienne’s and make her gasp, to cup her breast and roll her nipple between his fingers and hear her cry out into the quiet of the forest.

Jaime will never be able to let her go after this.

“Tell me how to make it better,” he whispers into her ear.

“I-- _ ah.”  _ A thrust steals her words. She grabs his hand and pushes it between her thighs. “M-maybe do both?”

It’s more Brienne’s hand guiding him, but that’s alright. She’d taught him  _ so _ many human things, bringing her pleasure can be another. With her guidance, he finds the spot she seeks above where they’re joined. Brienne clenches around him and muffles her cry with her hand.

“No one can hear,” Jaime pulls her hand away before returning to sliding his fingers against her.  _ She’s wetter than the entire loch. _ “If anyone does, they’ll just know you’re mine.”

“Y-yours.”

_ Every fae in the woods could hear. _ Let them know the truth of it; the truth will protect her.

“Is this what you do when you’re alone?” It seems so much more nuanced; maybe she’d show him, or talk him through it, next time.

Brienne nods, but doesn’t speak.

Not wanting the moment to end, Jaime goes as slow as he can. He whispers errant thoughts into Brienne’s ear, tells her that sinking into her feels more like home than any body of water. After a point, the words don’t matter, only the tide of sensation dragging them out and back in. 

There’s a fall, of course--Jaime expects it. It’s all the more glorious and devastating for how human it makes him feel. Brienne feels it, too; she says his name once, then twice, and grips his wrist tight enough to bruise. He doesn’t pull out; there isn’t time, and then Jaime’s spent, damp forehead pressed against Brienne’s nape.

“I don’t think I can’t get you with child,” he says against her skin, “My sister never mentioned it, and I think she would’ve.”

“We’ll have to be careful, when you’re human.”

_ “If _ I’m human.”

“No,” Brienne amends,  _ “when.” _

* * *

Jaime would prefer to keep staring at Brienne’s pale skin, but she hides under her blanket and denies him the chance. One day, he’ll get her to swim with him, naked in the sunlight. Even if-- _ when-- _ he’s human, Jaime knows he’ll still seek the water. 

“We should dress,” she tells him.

Jaime stretches brazenly next to her; they’ve known each other, and now he has even less reason to be modest. 

“Why?”

“We’re in a fae forest! _ Any _ reason.”

“Nothing will bother us,” Jaime answers, “And if something deigns to be so foolish, don’t you think I’m  _ slightly _ more useful as a kelpie than a man? I’d just have to disrobe again.”

_ “Fine. _ I should dress then.”

Jaime counters with, “You  _ absolutely _ should not.”

More shameless yet, Jaime crawls under their blankets and presses his body against hers. This will become addicting; he wants every inch of her against him. He’ll need to find a way to room with her at Evenfall.

“You’d have me fight... _ something _ naked?”

_ “Mmmm,”  _ Jaime hums against her skin, “I would; what a sight.”

Brienne pulls the blanket over her head. It bares their feet to the night air. Jaime curls half atop her and rests his head against her shoulder. 

“Should we take turns keeping watch?”

“No need.” Jaime moves his head so his beard scrapes over her skin; it earns him a smack in the shoulder. “I’ll know if anything’s coming.”

“Even asleep?”

“Even asleep.”

“So, now, we’re…”

“Can’t you feel it?” It simmers under his usual feelings for her. The magic in the woods makes the connection more pronounced. 

“I’m not sure. How should it feel?”

“Like...a tether?” Jaime finds her hand under the blanket and slides their fingers together. “Like this, but unseen.”

“Oh,” Brienne squeezes his hand, “I--I think I felt that before, too.”


	11. Part XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne can’t help but imagine what Roelle would think. Jaime’s entire existence would give her former governess a fit, but this might be the peak--sleeping naked under the arm of a kelpie-turned-man in the middle of a magical forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your comments last week were so lovely! Thank you so much.

Birds chirping at dawn wake Brienne from her sleep.

The blue glow that lit the clearing the night before is gone, replaced by pale morning sunlight slanting through the leaves. The wisteria is still beautiful, but it looks more ordinary now.

Jaime was right that nothing disturbed them. Brienne can’t be certain if it's coincidence, or if the fae truly knew to leave them alone. Either way, she slept through the night. The few times she traveled with her father, Brenne always had trouble sleeping when camping. It wasn’t fear; she was confident in her ability to defend herself. She just felt constantly on edge, and the wariness made her tired, yet unable to sleep.

Not this morning; Brienne hasn’t moved yet, but she feels rested.

The moss under her bedroll was magically soft, and the morning air is _just_ cool enough that the blanket and Jaime’s arm around her aren’t stifling. Her feet are sticking out of the blanket again, but she doesn’t mind. Jaime is still asleep and warm puffs of air tickle her neck.

Brienne can’t help but imagine what Roelle would think. Jaime’s entire existence would give her former governess a fit, but _this_ might be the peak--sleeping naked under the arm of a kelpie-turned-man in the middle of a magical forest.

By the time Jaime stirs behind her, Brienne is chuckling to herself.

“You’re laughing,” Jaime mumbles into her hair, “Is it at me? I didn’t think I was _that_ poor of a showing.”

“Poor?” She isn’t _quite_ awake, and Jaime’s meaning goes right past her.

“The _making love,”_ Jaime says the phrase as though it amuses him, which makes him sound melodramatic. Then, he tightens his arm around her, “I’m sure we’ll improve with practice, but It was...moving, wasn’t it?”

“I-it was. I never really expected--” Brienne moves her head minutely, “Anyway, I was imagining my old governess seeing this.”

“The one who told you weren’t beautiful?”

“The very same.”

“I don’t like _anything_ you’ve said about her,” Jaime nuzzles his nose into her hair. “What bad could she say about something _this_ nice?”

“Um,” Brienne can _almost_ muster the entire droll, judgemental lecture. “I’ve shamed my father with my...she’d probably say _wantonness_. I’m a lord’s daughter, so I need to be a good bride and a good lady. She’d tell me I’m ruined, now, I suppose.”

She doesn’t really _believe_ what Roelle would say, but the comments about not being a good daughter linger in her mind. Jaime doesn’t respond, so Brienne turns over to find him scowling.

“Humans are _strange;_ you’re no different than yesterday. Neither am I.”

“I know.”

There's simplicity and clarity to Jaime’s logic. Brienne wants to let it guide her, but he doesn’t understand human customs. As welcoming as her father is to Jaime, he’ll surely want them to wed, properly in a sept, if he finds out they’ve slept together. 

He’ll want it for Brienne’s sake more than for his own; Brienne never, _ever_ wants to make her father look bad in front of others. She decides to put it from her mind for now--they have a witch to find, and Seven knows what else awaits them beyond that.

“I was thinking, too,” Jaime says after a pause, “about my sister.”

“Was seeing her hard for you?”

Jaime nods, “Even before I walked from the loch, I’d been growing little by little. To her, the change isn’t a good one.”

“And to you?”

“I’m not like her. Hunting people--that isn’t enjoyable. Everyone she’s killed, even if some of them were guilty of _something_ , they were probably missed by _someone.”_ Jaime ducks his head so Brienne can’t see his expression. His next words are more of a whisper, “I thought, maybe she’d grown, too, apart from me, but she’s just the same. I don’t think I’ve _ever_ had an impact on her in all the decades we were together.”

“She did seem very...confident in her way of thinking.”

“That,” he chuckles, but doesn’t meet her gaze, “is an understatement. I’m sorry for the things she said to you.”

“Don’t be; she was helpful in her own way.”

Jaime looks up at her, “Are you alright this morning?” 

“I’m fine.” Better than she expected, really, after spending the night in a magical forest. “We should get started. We don’t even know how far we need to go.”

When Brienne starts to sit, Jaime grabs her elbow. “Wait.” He looks a bit sheepish--an odd expression in place of his usual swagger. “It’s barely dawn. I want you again.”

_The number of times doesn’t matter._

“I want you, too.”

* * *

Jaime spends most of the day as a kelpie with Brienne sitting atop him. It’s like being alone, so it gives Brienne time to think. The forest seemed so magical the night before, as Jaime kissed her in the ethereal light from the wisteria, but now they might as well be going in circles. They’re wandering blindly with only the guidance of _think where you want to go._ She waits for some _sign_ that they’re going in the right direction--a sense or a feeling _._

_Maybe Jaime senses the right direction?_

The quest is a romantic one--the kind of story she _loved_ as a girl. Brienne would’ve imagined herself as the heroine, on a journey to rescue a handsome prince from a curse. She’d fashion herself much more demure and elegant in her fantasy.

Brienne never imagined she'd _actually_ go on such a quest; the reality of it is _slightly_ more frustrating. 

The activities of the prior night, and morning, leave her a bit sore. It’s no worse than countless bruises and bumps from swordplay or any of the trouble she got into as a girl, but with nothing else to focus on, it feels more pronounced and irritates her.

She talks, some, but it’s mostly verbalizing her frustrations as the day wears on.

Mid-morning, she says, “It’s all beginning to look the same, isn’t it?”

Then, after lunch, “I _swear_ we’ve passed that tree before.”

Finally, in the afternoon, she scratches Jaime’s head to get his attention. “Do you have _any_ idea where we’re going? Should I be _feeling_ something?”

Jaime’s response is a nickering noise and continuing down the path they’re on. 

Brienne takes it as a _yes_.

* * *

The clearing they stop at on the second night is not as beautiful, but there’s a stream, which is a nice boon. Brienne washes with a cloth and dunks her hair into the water to scrub at it with the chunk of soap she brought. 

Jaime catches fish, and they roast them over a small cookfire. Pia’s sandwiches were lunch, but they still have bread, cheese and apples. It feels _much_ more like the kind of camping Brienne is used to.

“I like traveling like this,” Jaime takes a bite of the fish off the stick they’d cooked it on.

“I wish we had a map or...something,” Brienne admits, “Can you sense _anything?”_

“Sort of. It almost feels like...Maggy the Frog will find _us._ That might not make any sense because we’re looking for a house.”

“It doesn’t.”

“You’ll have to trust me; I’m not taking us to our demise.” Jaime halts and glances away. “Sorry, if I was quiet today; I’ve been thinking about last night.”

“You were a kelpie, Jaime; you can’t speak.”

“My sister and I can talk without words. It’s not _quite_ like that, but I think I get the gist across.”

“You do. My afternoon frustration made _you_ frustrated,” Brienne gives a small smile, “I was thinking about it, too.”

“When we go ho--back to Evenfall, can I share your bed? We’re never alone because we’re trying to steal time during the day. If I was in your room--”

 _We’d have every night._ The idea sounds _so_ nice.

Brienne tears a hunk of bread off the loaf; it’s a little stale, but warming it over the fire helped. “W-we can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to, but it’s improper, and I don’t want to make trouble for my father.”

 _“Nothing_ bothered us today. There were fae just off the path, and they never made contact.” Jaime looks at her, crestfallen, “What helped us here will make it harder for you at home. Did I dishonor you?”

Brienne’s heart aches at the expression on Jaime’s face. “I know you think human customs are foolish.”

“I _don’t_ , though. You’ve so much community; I _envy_ it. I may have mocked it once, but I know better now. It’s your strength.”

She sighs and lets her shoulders sag, “But it makes these expectations. We can’t just...carry on as we want. It will hurt Father to hear people speak ill of me, to say nothing of the fact that you appeared out of nowhere one day.”

“I understand.”

“My father has given me a lot of leeway-- _too_ much, some would say. When Roelle came to Evenfall, it was two summers after you saved me. Father wanted a woman around to help raise me, since Mother died when I was young. He was..absent.” Brienne pauses and takes a deep breath, “The grief kept us apart. Roelle was unkind to me, and Father would’ve sent her away if I told him, but…”

“...You never said anything?”

“...And he _never_ noticed.” Brienne raises her voice slightly, but calms before continuing, “I--I didn’t mind learning to embroider, or to dance, or the etiquette, even though I was _terrible_ at most of it. I wanted to practice with a sword, too, but I thought I could do both. She--she just--nothing was _ever_ good enough. I’m all Father has left, and I want to be the daughter he deserves.”

“You _are,”_ Jaime answers, “When I left you on the shore, and Selwyn came to carry you home. I thought that to be that loved must be something only humans could experience. I thought my sister loved me, but I saw how your father rushed to you, how relieved he looked, and realized I’d never known that.”

 _Twice_ Brienne has cried since Jaime walked out of the loch. She closes her eyes, but the burning doesn’t abate. _“You’re_ why he found me.”

“I don’t want to be without you, but I don’t want to create trouble.” There’s an air of selfishness in Jaime’s tone, but Brienne doesn’t mind hearing it there. “Tell me what I need to do so that won’t happen.”

“Father will probably want us to wed in a sept.” 

“The backwards thing,” Jaime nods, slowly at first and then more rapidly. “Where the mating comes _after,_ and someone _else_ has to give you permission to be together. _”_

Tears roll down Brienne’s cheeks, but she’s also laughing at Jaime’s description of one of the pillars of human society. “I--I don’t mean to trap you; things will be fine without it.”

Jaime drops his apple onto the bedroll and slides over to Brienne, “Like things would be fine on our journey without last night?”

“I wanted to. I would’ve, even without any need.”

“But you wanted to be wed first?”

“I--I don’t know,” she admits, “It felt right, and it wasn’t some duty, so I’m happy.”

“There’s a lot I don’t know,” Jaime refused to put on more than his breeches, so he wipes at Brienne’s cheeks with his discarded shirt. “I’m happy to do whatever is needed to stay with you. Just tell me what to say and where to go.”

“It’s...a bit permanent,” Brienne scrubs at her own eyes, “I mean, it can be undone, but it’s rare.”

“Last night can’t be undone, either.”

“I--I’m fond of that,” Brienne takes Jaime’s hands in her own. “You’d be part of my house if we married, and _nothing_ would be improper.”

“Brienne, the object of our quest is _quite_ irreversible. Forever doesn’t bother me.”

* * *

“We’ll find our quarry today,” Jaime says to her after breakfast the next morning. He’s sitting on his bedroll, blanket pooled around his wait. As usual, he isn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.

If Brienne mentions it, Jaime will just respond that he’ll have to take it off again, unless they want to walk. So, she eats her breakfast and tries not to get caught staring. If Jaime catches her eye, he’ll do something to get her attention, and they'll _never_ get started. 

“How can you be certain?”

“I can just _feel_ it.”

Brienne rolls her eyes, and Jaime starts laughing.

“I think...our commitment is being tested. _Everything_ here likes games, so Maggy the Frog must be no different. She’ll show herself when we’ve proven ourselves, or she grows bored.”

“That’s...unhelpful.”

“I know.”

“What if she just wants us to starve to death?”

“We’re close, but I think we just have to keep walking.”

“In circles?”

Jaime nods, “If that’s what it takes.”

And it _is_ what it takes because by mid-afternoon, when Brienne is half-asleep with her cheek pressed against Jaime’s golden mane, he stops and makes enough noise to wake her. It takes her a second to rouse, but when Brienne sits up, a ramshackle house sits in a clearing before them.

“Seven hells,” she says under the breath, “you were right.”

Jaime’s chuffing noise sounds _quite_ smug.


	12. Part XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime raises his hand to rap on the door, but it swings open of its own volition before he has the chance.
> 
> “Well,” Brienne raises her eyebrows, “You were correct about us being expected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S MAGGY TIME!
> 
> Thank you, as always, for all the love this story is getting!

When he's in his human form and dressed, boots included, Jaime puts his hands on Brienne's shoulders and says, "Just like with my sister, let me do the talking."

Brienne reaches for her sword at her hip, “I’m not a child; let me help you.”

“You’re not,” Jaime repeats, “Although, compared to me, you are _very_ young.”

“Says the man who asks more questions than a child who’s first learning to speak.”

“It’s not my fault human things are so complicated,” Jaime grins at her, “You’ve been a wonderful teacher.”

“I’ve learned from you, too,” Brienne touches her forehead to his, “I’ll be careful. Do you think the bond won’t protect me here?”

“I’m not that powerful,” he admits, “And if something doesn’t fear me, then you’re in danger.”

“Alright.”

“We don’t know _anything_ about what we’re going into. She might try to trick us, or exact a price we don’t want to pay.”

Brienne nods, “So don’t accept anything from her, and don’t agree to anything.”

“Don’t draw your sword, either. Unless it’s magic, it probably will be little aid.”

“It’s fine steel, but not magic.”

Jaime takes Brienne’s hand, and they walk up the path to the door. 

They leave their packs by the gate; Jaime assures her, again, that no fae or creature in the forest will want anything from them.

There’s flat, grey stones set into the earth, but they’re worn with age, and the weeds growing nearly eclipse them. The yard on either side is equally overgrown, brambles and underbrush that comes up to nearly Jaime’s shoulders.

“How _old_ is this house?” Brienne whispers when they reach the stoop.

The roof has so much growing on it that Jaime can barely make out the thatching. It sags in the middle, and he nearly cracks his head on the eave above the door.

 _“Old,”_ Jaime answers, “How is it even standing?”

“Magic?”

Brienne steps to the side and attempts to peer through the window; it’s so covered in muck that Jaime isn’t surprised when she steps back and shakes her head in defeat.

“I’m supposed to knock, right?”

“That’s the human custom.”

Jaime raises his hand to rap on the door, but it swings open of its own volition before he has the chance.

“Well,” Brienne raises her eyebrows, “You were correct about us being expected.”

* * *

“Well, well, well, a human girl and a kelpie at my door.”

The interior of the house is no better kept than the outside. When the croaking voice calls out to them, the room is so smoky Jaime can barely make out the space it originates from. The smell isn’t just that of a cookfire; Jaime’s grown fond of that smell at Evenfall. The space smells pungent and musty with herbs, like a window hasn’t been opened in _years._

A vague shape shambles towards them through the haze. The woman is almost impossibly stooped with age, and her cane thuds against the cottage floor in time with her steps. 

The crone gives a dry cackle, revealing a toothless mouth. "I'm surprised you were able to find me.”

“You’re Maggy the Frog.” Jaime gets his first true sight of her. The crone has yellowed eyes and such a hunched back that she’s nearly doubled over. The robes she’s wearing are too old to discern any color from them, only that they look like rags.

“Aye, although no one has called me that name in an age,” she replies; her voice is heavily-accented, but Jaime doesn’t know enough beyond Tarth to say from where. “No one could pronounce my name, so Maggy was what they called me. I always _hated_ the frog part.”

 _Because your face resembles one,_ Jaime thinks; hopefully Maggy can’t read minds.

“Do people call you something else, now?”

Maggy turns her yellow gaze to Jaime, “I’ve seen no one since your wretched sister came to me. It’s probably been a decade past.”

Taken aback, Jaime says, “My sister came to you? _Why?”_

“Now, now, don’t get ahead of yourself, child. I’m surprised you made it here. Very few people have the patience to wander through the forest for two days, going in circles at times."

"I _knew_ we were being led in circles!" Brienne speaks for the first time since entering the house; her hands are balled into fists at her sides. "It’s discourteous of you to trick people."

She gives another croaking laugh and taps her cane on the packed-earth floor. "What do I care for manners, girl?"

“That’s not--you _could’ve_ kept us away, if that was your preference,” Brienne sounds the most irritated Jaime’s ever heard her. “You toyed with us.”

“Aye, I did.” Maggy raises a knobby finger and points it at Jaime. “I’ve been cooped in this house for ten times longer than your kelpie companion here has been alive. You’ll forgive me for my sport.” 

“That’s not sport--”

Jaime should’ve known Brienne’s principled nature would be rankle at being tricked. She has _a lot_ to get used to in this forest. He grabs Brienne’s wrist, _“Wench._ It’s fine. We made it. It was just a harmless test.”

 _“Sport_ would be a tourney, or fighting a dragon--”

 _“Brienne,”_ Jaime interjects, “Don’t ask for what you don’t _actually_ want.”

Maggy laughs her loudest croak yet, “Listen to your kelpie friend here. A poorly worded thought can mean your demise.” She settles into a creaking chair near the blackened shell of a fireplace. “Maybe a dragon _will_ appear, and you’ll be locked in a duel with the bastard until the end of days.”

“I’ll mind my tongue,” Brienne sounds mulish; Jaime _really_ wants to kiss her for it.

“Why did my sister come here?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that, kelpie,” Maggy replies. “She bade me keep it a secret.”

“No offense, but I can’t think of _anything_ she would desire that you could provide.” His sister didn’t _need_ things from people--she took, and never asked, and would be even less likely to put herself in any disadvantage.

“She asked for information,” Maggy cackles again and taps her cane, “A _prediction_ , if you will.”

“About what?” Brienne asks; she’s turned away from both of them and is staring through the grimy window to the garden.

“If her brother would come to his senses and return to her.”

 _She’s never needed me,_ Jaime wants to yell. Brienne turns back to them at the revelation. “You lie,” Jaime spits, “she would _never.”_

“Choose your words wisely, kelpie.”

“My name isn’t kelpie.” Now, he’s behaving just as he warned Brienne not to. “It’s _Jaime.”_

“Ah,” Maggy’s tone turns mocking, and she shakes her head. “A human name, but you’re _not_ one. What did your sister say that sent you to me?”

“That you used to be a human,” Brienne says, “and that you might know a path for the reverse to happen.”

“Is _that_ what the kelpie yearns for? To live a mortal life?”

“Yes.”

She turns her yellow eyes to Brienne, “And what do _you_ think of such foolishness, girl? Would you prefer him as a man when he’s in your bed?

Brienne blushes and looks away, “I--I just want Jaime to be happy.”

 _“Selfless._ Long ago, before the kelpie or his wretched sister were foals swimming through the loch, I wished for immortality.”

“I assume, given that you’re here, it worked?”

“It did, girl, but at a price.” Maggy laughs again, but this one rings especially hollow, “I’m burdened with knowledge no mortal should have, and while I cannot die, I remain here, _stuck._ ”

“Your wish,” Brienne sounds more like she’s speaking to herself than to either of them, “It was twisted. There’s _so_ many stories like this.”

“What granted it?” A bit overwhelmed, Jaime sits in the other chair before the hearth; it creaks, but holds, and dust motes fly around him. ”And how do I not fuck it up like you did?”

Jaime doesn’t expect a straight answer.

“There’s a sword, _deep_ in the heart of the forest. They say a goddess guards it, but I never saw any such thing. The sword was a rusted thing, to me. I was told it would grant me three things my heart desired.”

“How many wishes did you make?”

“One _shit_ one, kelpie--I wished to live forever.”

 _I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up._ Jaime’s forgotten to breathe, so he takes a deep inhale before continuing. “And if I wished to be mortal?”

Maggy shrugs, “Maybe you’d age all the years you’ve lived in an instant and crumble to dust. Maybe you’d be mortal, but you’d be a horse. _Who the fuck knows?”_

“And there’s no correct way?” Brienne asks, “In stories, there’s always some trick--a maiden, or a magic word, or _something,”_

“Well, if it takes a maiden, you’re out of luck. I sensed the two of you _days_ ago.”

Jaime rises from the chair and dusts himself off. “It’s fine, Brienne. We tried.”

“It’s _not_ fine, Jaime, you want--”

Maggy makes a feigned gagging noise and interrupts them. “Haven’t seen another soul in ten years, and it’s two _sickening_ lovebirds. _Gods,_ I’ll aid you to get you out of my house. There _might_ be one way.”

“Tell me,” Jaime doesn’t care how demanding he sounds.

“My wish was selfish,” she answers, “so I was punished.”

 _Is my wish selfish?_ Jaime looks to Brienne, who looks indignant as ever, who he wants to begin and end each day with until his last, and thinks _yes._ He covets her, and surely what he wants will be blackened by his greed. _What if it hurts her?_

Two steps ahead, Brienne replies, “So, an unselfish wish might be granted purely?”

Maggy smiles, baring her gums, “Aye.” 

* * *

Somehow, Brienne ends up spending half the afternoon cleaning a century of grime off Maggy’s house, and by the time they set back out near sundown, their food rations have been bolstered by provisions of the garden, which might be the only portion of her property that isn’t in utter disarray. 

“You don’t happen to have a map for us?” Brienne asks when they leave. “Perhaps some specific, explicit directions?”

“No map,” Maggy shakes her head, “but there’s a waterfall in the heart of the forest--the sword resides behind it.”

Brienne exhales through her nose, “This forest is _huge.”_

Maggy slowly raises her arm and points a shaky finger at the _much_ cleaner window. “Go toward the mountain.”

Beyond the window a peak rises above the treeline; the rock face looks like all the other cliffs on Tarth--white and shining in the evening sun.

Jaime grins, “That _is_ better advice.”

Maggy doesn’t offer to let them stay, but Jaime would’ve refused if she had. He thinks Brienne would agree. There’s an hour left of daylight, and he’d rather make a bit more progress on their journey. Brienne rides on his back once more, and the two of them keep the mountain in their view through the canopy of the trees.

They don’t get _that_ far before the sun sets, but it’s enough to find an open spot under a tree. It’s not as nice a spot as the previous two nights, but there’s enough room for a cookfire, and Jaime has everything he needs with Brienne beside him. 

Jaime transforms into a human and flops onto the grass. The evening breeze is nice, and he doesn’t want to put clothes on. Brienne will blush, and maybe chide him, but she’ll _look_ because she wants him, and when she comes to him it’ll be all the easier without his pesky clothes.

She _does_ look as she gathers wood and makes a cookfire. Jaime stretches and links his hands behind his head, just to pander to her. Brienne is blushing, and once Jaime’s had his fill of the sight, he closes his eyes.

“Do you think we can make Pia’s stew?”

“Maybe?” Brienne answers. There’s a clank and then some rustling. “We have potatoes, carrots, onions, and dried meat. We also have salt and thyme. It won’t be _as_ good, but I can make stew.”

Jaime opens his eyes and sits up, “I’ll eat it.”

“On _one_ condition,” Brienne continues.

“...You want me to dress?”

“Pants, Jaime, _pants.”_

* * *

It’s not _quite_ Pia’s stew, but it’s good, and Jaime eats three bowls and some _very_ stale bread, all while wearing Brienne’s requested pants.

“You’re not a bad cook,” Jaime says around the spoon in his mouth, “I haven’t been poisoned.”

“This is the extent of it,” Brienne says as she puts the lid on the pot, “And the leftovers are breakfast.” 

“I think I like sweet breakfast more. I want buttered scones and tea.”

Brienne looks at him a bit like she might a child she’s exasperated with. “When we get home, we’ll have Pia make a new flavor everyday for a _sennight.”_

 _Home._ With Brienne.

When everything is cleaned up, Jaime looks in the direction of the mountain; it’s mostly obscured by the trees, but the moon is full again, and he can make out some of it. Brienne is beside him on her bedroll, looking in the same direction.

“I wonder,” he says after a period of silence, “if Maggy was telling the truth about my sister coming to her? I can’t imagine her wondering if I’d return to her enough to _ask.”_

“I-I don’t know. There’s no reason for Maggy to lie, not one that I can see, at least.”

“It makes it sound like she _missed_ me.” That’s almost more overwhelming than all the years spent thinking he meant _that_ little to her. “I--I don’t know what to _do_ with that.”

“Well, did you miss her?”

Jaime shakes his head, “I miss who she _used_ to be. When we were...younger, she wasn’t so _wretched._ We played together. _”_

“I’m sorry.” He startles a bit when Brienne wraps her arm around his shoulders. “When people you care about change, or leave, it’s hard.”

“I guess that’s not just a human experience.”

“She seemed...possessive.” Jaime is certain Brienne’s grip tightens a fraction. “I could see her seeking to know if you’d return, especially if she thought you’d never find out.”

Wanting to be closer, Jaime turns to Brienne and wraps his arms around her, forehead pressed to her chest. “I can’t make my wish, can I?”

“I don’t know,” she puts her other hand in his hair. _“Selfish_ is not exactly objective.”

“Wanting to be human is selfish,” Jaime is certain of that, “Maggy’s right; the wish will get twisted.”

“But we’re still going,” Brienne doesn’t phrase it as a question. “...You think I ought to be the one to make the wish?”

 _It’s the only path that makes sense._ If Brienne wants him to be human, if she’s the one who makes that fate come to pass, maybe it _can,_ and it won’t be ruined.

“If you wish it for me, maybe it’s not selfish?”

Brienne’s hand in his hair stills, “I’d be wishing to take something from you. Isn’t that selfish?”

“Even if it’s something I want gone?”

When Brienne answers, Jaime can barely hear her. “But _I_ want you to be human, too.”


	13. Part XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The wish is selfish._
> 
> Brienne is awake half the night, turning the thought over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad everyone enjoyed Maggy last chapter!

_The wish is selfish._

Brienne is awake half the night, turning the thought over and over again. She hoped pondering would make it smooth, like a rock worn down by water, but the jagged edges remain.

Jaime’s asleep, golden hair catching the first rays of dawn. Already, Brienne covets him sleeping beside her. He throws an arm around her or, as he is now, presses his forehead against her sternum and tickles her skin as he breathes. 

Brienne’s never shared anything like that with another and longs for things to be that way every morning. _A human life with the person I love._ She hasn’t spoken the word _love_ aloud, but it’s comfortable in her mind. 

_That same love will corrupt the wish._ Brienne wants Jaime to be human so he can be with her. She doesn’t want to age and die while he endures. It’s selfish to want him to change just so he can exist beside her. Brienne yearns for it so acutely that there’s no way it will be granted as she asks. _I’m not selfless enough for that._

Lost in thought, Brienne feels Jaime stir against her. He reminds her more of a cat than a kelpie as he rises, stretching his whole body before shimmying closer like she's a sunbeam he wants to find. Even through clothes, it creates _a lot_ of contact; he's hard against her leg and everywhere they touch is so _warm._

The entire thing makes her heart catch in her throat.

"You're already awake," Jaime mumbles, "Was I bothering you?" 

"N-no."

"I miss beds," he continues, certainly not quite awake.

"It's only been three nights, and you lived for…" Brienne doesn't honestly know _exactly_ how long. "...A good long while without sleeping in a bed. Are you too good for the ground now?" 

"A month in a bed is enough for me to learn they're better," he sounds a bit more cogent now. "Time didn't matter, so I didn't count."

Brienne doesn't tire of watching Jaime navigate the human world. She wants to be part of that growth, to be the person he comes to with his questions and his joy.

_That's selfish, too._

Jaime's looking up at her with a coy smile, waiting for her response.

She drags her mind back. "The moss on the first night was soft, but...yes, beds are better."

"I'm interested in combining the two."

"Combining?"

 _"Mhm,"_ Jaime nods and moves against her; it makes him sigh. "You _and_ a bed. You're comfortable and warm. I bet together it’s _perfect."_

 _Selfish._ Jaime, buried under the old blue quilt her mother made for her when she was a girl. It was soft from an uncountable number of launderings. Or, much less innocently, Jaime spread out on top of it, bare as he's so fond of being. Brienne is still shy, but she's certain she'll grow more confident. Jaime always, _always_ looks at her with the same heat in his gaze, like he uncovered his desire just to share it with her.

"I--I," she's a little overwhelmed _,_ "I'd like that, too."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"If I denied you, would it stop you?"

Wickedly, Jaime grins, "No."

"Then go ahead."

"I like kissing you, and I like touching you." Jaime takes a deep breath, "Do you think about it? I feel like I can’t stop."

"I-I do,” Brienne admits, “and when we're like this, it's harder _not_ to think of it."

Jaime leans into her and nips at her earlobe; her shiver hits them both. "Why would you not want to? Human have lots of great things, but fucking is the _best_. _”_

 _Gods, he would say it like that._ Her face is on fire. Brienne’s glad Jaime is whispering in her ear and can’t see it.

When she doesn’t respond, Jaime looks her in the eye, “Do you not agree?”

“Being together is good.”

“I understand why my sister seeks it out."

"It's not just because she likes to play with her food?"

"She _does_ like that," Jaime chuckles, "but there's something she's missing. I didn’t understand it before, but I pity her."

Brienne runs her hand down Jaime's bare back. He's feeling so many things, but she can only offer herself as comfort. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I only know it myself because you showed me.” Jaime kisses her. When he pulls back, he says, “These last few weeks are the most _myself_ I’ve ever felt. My sister is right--I’m a _terrible_ kelpie. I don’t think I’m much of a man yet, but it's what I want.”

“Jaime--”

 _“You’re_ my wish.” He shuts his eyes and drops his forehead against hers. _“_ If we find the sword, and it’s a trick we can outsmart, please let me be as you are.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re the most generous person in the world. If _anyone_ can make a pure wish, it’s you.”

* * *

They’ve been travelling half the morning when there’s a rustling in the trees before them.

Jaime stops on the path, ears perking up. When Brienne hears it, too, she slides out of the saddle and reaches for her sword at her hip. Then, she places her hand flat on Jaime’s shaggy coat and peers ahead.

“Something’s watching us,” she whispers, “Can you tell what it is?”

Jaime’s answer is to breathe through his nostrils and shake his head.

“Can you tell if it’s afraid of you?”

Another head shake; it could be a _no,_ or an _I don’t know._

An arrow comes shooting out of the tree. Whoever, or _whatever,_ shot the bow is either a poor aim or didn’t intend it to hit. It lands in the grass a few paces from Brienne’s feet; she kneels and pulls it from the grass. The arrowhead isn’t flint, but a black, glossy stone that Brienne doesn’t recognize. She stands and turns to Jaime, who backs away several paces. 

The second arrow lands _much_ closer. Brienne doesn’t know how effective it will be, but she draws her sword regardless. If Jaime can’t protect them, she’ll do so instead.

“Show yourself!”

“Why don’t you just shout and get the attention of _everything_?” a voice calls from the trees. “Typical human, loud and full of hubris.”

 _“This_ human thinks herself special,” another voice says, “look at her travelling companion.”

“A kelpie,” the first voice continues, “should stay in the loch with the fishes.”

“Kelpies have no place deep in the woods,” the second agrees, “Besides, shouldn’t he want to eat the human girl?”

The first voice sounds a touch disgusted and says, “I never understood eating humans. The meat is tough, and there’s _much_ better ways to play with them. I’d rather eat berries.”

Brienne tightens her grip on the hilt of her sword, “You know that I can hear you, right? And humans don’t appreciate being judged on the deeds of others.”

“And _we_ never appreciated having our forests burned and our kin slaughtered.”

 _“I’m_ not the one who did that,” Brienne grows more irritated by the moment, “And I don’t appreciate being shot at unprovoked.”

Jaime chooses that moment to change into his human form. Brienne tries to fish in her bag for his clothes while still keeping her hand on her sword and her eyes on the trees. She’s not very successful.

He kneels and picks up the closest arrow, inspecting it, “It’s dragon glass.”

Brienne glances to Jaime again, “Like...obsidian? I’ve read about it, but I’ve never seen it.”

A look of pain crosses Jaime’s features, and he nods, “Fatal to many creatures, including kelpies.”

_Fatal._

“Then _get behind me.”_

“No. I _hate_ archers, but nothing in the forest has that poor an aim,” he whispers. Then, much louder, Jaime says, “If you’re going to bar our path, show yourself while you do so.”

Brienne pushes clothes into his hands. _“Pants.”_

“Is that _really_ important right now?”

Jaime puts the pants on; one of the creatures in the trees giggles.

One of the lower boughs of the tree before them, a great maple that stretches toward the sky, rustles and a face pokes out from between the leaves. The creature’s skin is dappled like a deer, and the color reminds Brienne of an acorn. It has large, gold eyes like those of a cat.

If Brienne hadn’t spent her childhood dreaming of kelpies and the last month in the company of one, she might’ve had _quite_ a shock. Even still, her heart rate picks up considerably, and the rational part of her brain tries to process what she’s seeing. _You rode into a magical forest on the back of a kelpie. You met an immortal witch who told you about a sword that grants wishes._

Jaime’s voice pulls Brienne from her musings; he’s dropped the arrows and has his arms crossed, looking at the creature in the tree. _“There_ you are.”

The creature blinks its cat eyes, “I _am_ here. It’s been many an age since we’ve seen a human.”

“And we’d prefer _never_ to spy one again.” A second creature pops out of the tree and lands on the moss; this one has darker skin and green eyes. It’s wearing clothes made of bark and leaves, holding a bow, and has a quiver on its back. “Although, _Leaf,_ perhaps you don’t mind, since you love humans so much.”

“I don’t love them,” Leaf argues, “I only walked among them to learn their ways.”

“And their weaknesses, I hope.”

“They’re very soft and easy to kill. The kelpie, too, with the dragonglass.”

Brienne doesn’t loosen her grip on her sword. “Would anybody do me the courtesy of an introduction?”

“I believe humans call them the children of the forest,” Jaime says.

Leaf and the other start talking over one another in a tongue Brienne can’t understand. They sound like they’re arguing, but she thinks people speaking in a language she doesn’t know always sound irritated. It reminds her of the bastardized dialects of High Valyrian she hears at Tarth’s port. _Or maybe the sailors from the Free Cities_ are _always fighting._

“Do _you_ understand them?” she whispers to Jaime.

“Fuck no,” he shakes his head. “Never have.”

Eventually, Leaf turns to them and says, “ _Humans_ call us the children of the forest, but in our tongue, we call ourselves those who sing the song of the earth.”

“They’re in your book,” Jaime adds helpfully, “the picture is... _not_ accurate.”

Brienne remembers the chapter. “ _Oh_ , they don’t have wings at all, and they’re much too big.”

The one who isn’t Leaf says, “Are you implying some stupid human _book_ could ever get us right?”

“The opposite, actually,” Brienne replies, “Books don’t get kelpies right, either. Humans make _total_ guesses with a lot of confidence.”

Leaf giggles, “Kelpie, this human is interesting. Where’d you find her?”

“I saved her when she was a girl,” Jaime says, “then finally grew brave enough to come out of the water to meet her.”

“Ah,” the second one says, “A mortal bride. You’re not the first to steal one, but maybe the first kelpie. Many find them amusing and _quite_ pliable; although, why’d you wait till she was grown? They’re easier to snatch as children.” 

Brienne isn’t sure if she should be amused or offended.

Jaime seems to have decided to be offended when he says, “Brienne’s _not_ my bride. I saved her because she was in danger, and I’d never steal a child.” He realizes what he said and looks at Brienne. “I--I mean, you’re not my bride _because_ I saved you.”

 _Bride._ Brienne gives a nervous chuckle, “It’s fine, Jaime; I take your meaning.”

“You gave him a name?” Leaf tilts its head, “How odd. Is he _your_ pet?”

 _“No,”_ Brienne answers, “We’re…”

“You gave yourself a name in the mortal tongue, too, Leaf,” the other says, “And don’t be an idiot; they’re lovers. I can _smell_ it on them.”

“Lovers,” Jaime repeats, grinning. “We _are_ , aren’t we?” 

“We’re seeking a magic sword in a waterfall at the center of the forest. Can you direct us? Or warn us of any danger?”

“We _are_ the danger,” the other one says, knocking an arrow in their bow.

 _“Stop it,”_ Leaf scolds, “You’re always picking fights.”

“With _trespassers.”_

“I’ll draw you a map.” Leaf draws in the dirt with a stick, and Brienne copies it on a scrap of paper with a pencil. 

Jaime studies the map, “What’s the trick? Nothing in this forest is just helpful.”

“Wise of you to remember that,” Leaf replies, “The path might be filled with tricks and traps. Why add more?”

The one that isn’t Leaf giggles wickedly, “We should follow them and see if anything tries to eat them!”

* * *

They end up walking again and splitting their belongings between them.

Brienne doesn’t mind it, but Jaime might as well be a kelpie for as quiet as he is. He could be thinking about brides, or dragonglass arrows, or his sister. 

“I didn’t know dragonglass was fatal to kelpies,” Brienne breaks the silence, “There’s an old Northern folktale about men made of ice that can raise the dead. In that tale, it’s dragonglass that can kill them.”

Jaime pulls a confused scowl, “What a strange story. It’s lethal to all sorts of creatures; they say it’s made from dragonfire. ”

“It’s made from volcanic rock.”

“Volcanic...rock?”

“When a volcano explodes, there’s lava--it’s like molten earth--when it cools, it makes obsidian. The merchants bring it from Essos sometimes, but I’ve never seen it on Tarth.”

“The children supposedly take it from deep in the ground,” Jaime scratches his beard, “They use it for all their weapons.”

“Do they kill other fae?”

Jaime nods, “If things they don’t approve of enter their territory.”

“If you knew they shot obsidian arrows, why didn’t you get behind me?”

“I didn’t think they’d _actually_ attack.” He sounds a _bit_ like he’s bluffing. “If they wanted us dead, they wouldn’t have bothered with conversation.”

“Regardless of their intent, Jaime, I was trying to _protect_ you.”

“I want to be able to protect you,” Jaime stops walking and stares intently at a group of ferns off the path. 

Brienne draws her sword and stares at the blade in the sunlight. _Think of a sword as a shield, not a weapon._ Ser Goodwin told her that, long ago when he was at Evenfall. He’d noticed something in Brienne--a gentleness she thought made her unable to fight. _You’ve the heart of a maiden, but you’ll need to be strong if you want to protect people._

“You don’t need to,” Brienne replies, “I can protect myself.”

Jaime stomps his foot in frustration; it’s something he does as a kelpie, too. Brienne always knows what it means, even when he can’t speak.

“I just...I’m worried about you here. Things _have_ avoided us, but when you stepped in front of me, I don’t think I could’ve protected you.”

“I never thought being lovers would stop an arrow or a sword,” Brienne replies, “but I do feel...safer, knowing that you’re with me. There's danger here I’d never think of.”

“I can’t fight as a man,” Jaime lowers his voice, “I want to be one, but I wonder what use I’ll be? Your father is a Lord, and the men in town all _do_ things. I’ve been thinking of wanting to be with you, but I don’t know what else I want.”

“One thing at a time,” Brienne sheathes her sword and puts her hand on Jaime’s shoulder.

Jaime turns to her, a grin on his face, “Apparently, I should’ve made you my bride when you were a girl.”

 _“Ugh,”_ Brienne shakes her head, “Did that even cross your mind?”

“I never would’ve thought of that.”

“I used to wonder, sometimes, if you’d appear and demand something like that.”

“Brienne,” Jaime steps forward and kisses her, “Since we’re walking, can you tell me more about weddings? I assume I need shoes.”


	14. Part XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time deep in the forest is strange.
> 
> Even in this realm, more native to him than the human world, Jaime’s a bit uneasy as they work their way toward the mountain. He’s never been this far in; he doesn’t tell Brienne because he wants her to think he knows the forest better than he does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is actually the last chapter I have written, which means I'm going to do my damnest not to screw up my update schedule, but I might have to skip one. I got distracted writing another fic, which I'm sure has happened to all of us at some point.

Time deep in the forest is strange.

Even in this realm, more native to him than the human world, Jaime’s a bit uneasy as they work their way toward the mountain. He’s never been this far in; he doesn’t tell Brienne because he wants her to think he knows the forest better than he does. 

The bond isn’t enough, not when he’s so far from the strongest being, fae _or_ man. 

The connection feels more tangible the deeper they go. He loves Brienne, and it feels like she’s holding his heart in her hands. Jaime doesn’t know if Brienne feels it with the same intensity he does, like his human form can’t contain the volume of it. A few times, he considers asking her, but the words dam up in his throat. It’s not rejection that he fears; it’s only that he’s missing some facet of it, something he’s not human enough to understand.

First, they have to make it to the mountain and find the sword. He’s _certain_ the mountain is taunting them by getting further away.

The map Leaf drew them seems to help Brienne some, but the landmarks are all vague, and she expresses her frustrations more than once. Jaime, who’s never read a map of any kind, isn’t sure how what Leaf gave them could be more or less helpful.

“Jaime, how long have we been traveling?” Brienne asks one morning as they’re packing up camp.

He shrugs, “I don’t know. You made rabbit stew last night.”

She shakes her head, “That was three nights ago.”

“No, it was last night--”

“If that was true, we’d have eaten the leftovers this morning, and we didn’t.”

“We’re losing track of the days because they don’t matter. Time holds no meaning to the fae, and the forest bends to their will.”

Brienne’s pale brows draw together, “Is it faster or slower?”

“Faster, I think,” Jaime replies, “It doesn’t feel like it, though.”

“So when we return, it might seem like we’ve been gone longer than we think?” When he nods, she continues, “Father and Pod must be worried.”

“What about Pia?”

“She might bake more due to stress, but Pia will have faith in us.”

Pia’s bread has been gone for days, and Jaime can _almost_ imagine the taste of it. They only have dried meat and some of Maggy’s root vegetables left. However, they don’t want for food; there’s plenty of berries and fruits to gather, and, as a kelpie, Jaime is quite skilled at catching fish. 

The first time Brienne catches a rabbit in a snare, Jaime almost tells her to set it free. He’s really, _really_ not a hunter. 

“We have to eat,” she says, “but I don’t enjoy it, either.”

They spend a lot of time walking; Brienne rides on his back in the mornings, but when it’s warm in the afternoons, they walk. It’s not as fast, but Jaime is growing more and more convinced that distance and time don’t matter. As with Maggy, they’ll arrive when the forest wants them to.

“Hunting and gathering _has_ been working out, so the pack is smaller,” Brienne says, “I think we can do without the saddle.”

That brightens Jaime’s mood--if only he could do without shoes, too. “Is it alright to leave it?”

Brienne shrugs, “I suppose it’s wasteful, but even when we reach the mountain, the journey’s only halfway over. We have to make it back out.”

“We’ll have to walk the whole way back,” Jaime realizes. There’s a strange finality to the idea.

“Will you miss being a kelpie?”

“...I don’t know,” Jaime hesitates. _If there’s something I miss, does that mean I don’t know what I want?_ “Breathing underwater and maybe...carrying you.”

Brienne blushes, which Jaime doesn’t understand at all, “R-really?”

“It’s useful, and something only I can do. That makes it...special.”

“I like it, too,” she replies, “so I might miss it a bit.”

“Is that...bad?”

“No.” She smiles and shakes her head, “We lose something every time we make a choice. You can be sad about that and still think you did the correct thing.”

It’s a notion that gives Jaime a lot to think about, and he has plenty of time to do so.

* * *

Like everything in the forest, the mountain is an impossible distance away until the white cliff face is just past the edge of the trees.

“I _hate_ that,” Brienne grumbles, “we walk and _walk_ with no progress in sight, and then _suddenly,_ we’re here. When I chart a course, I want my landmarks and distance to be accurate.”

Jaime chuckles, “The forest _wants_ you to get lost and give up. It enchants you with pretty flowers and gives you food.”

“Are you saying I wouldn’t have made it here alone?”

“I wouldn’t have either.”

“I think,” Brienne glances at him and takes his hand, “We were meant to make this journey together.”

“If I’d come alone, I’d end up cursed. I mean, I still might, but I’ve a better chance with you.”

“I--” she pauses, “I’ll do anything I can.”

Like all the cliffs on Tarth, there’s very few foothills to speak of, just an open area with some wildflowers and underbrush leading to steep, white rock reflecting the setting sun. Brienne drops Jaime’s hand and walks to distance to the rock face and lays her palm on it.

“You can’t see this mountain from Evenfall. We really _aren’t_ on Tarth anymore.”

Jaime stares up; the top of the cliff is beyond his sight. “Maggy said we’re looking for a cave entrance.”

“We’ve got less than an hour of daylight left. What would you like to do?”

The wish felt safer when it was far off, and they were wandering the forest and didn’t know how long it would take to reach the mountain. They could talk about it, curled together under their thin blankets. Jaime could dream about being with Brienne at Evenfall and sharing her bed. He likes traveling and spending so much time alone with her. He likes being able to be with her when the mood strikes him and not worrying about who could see.

“Let’s look for the cave entrance for a while,” Jaime tries to stomp the nervousness out of his voice. “Then, maybe we should camp and begin fresh in the morning?”

“If you’d like,” Brienne replies. 

They walk the perimeter of the mountain for an hour until the light is low enough that, in a few moments, they might not know a cave entrance from their hands before their faces. Jaime’s not terribly surprised they don’t find anything. Brienne chooses a flat spot of ground and makes a fire. They’ll need to hunt again, soon, so they sup on apples and dried meat.

“Do you think it’s another waiting game?” Brienne asks as they eat. “Perhaps we need to sit here for three days, or the cave has a password, or it only opens once it senses my _extreme_ frustration.”

“It really _could_ be that.”

“I loved these stories as a girl, but now that I’m in one it’s a bit...less enjoyable.”

The nervous feeling humming under Jaime’s skin didn’t abate all through dinner. _Nothing_ made him anxious as a kelpie because there was nothing he wanted, and nothing he feared losing. As long as he could watch Brienne and know she was safe and cared for, that was all he needed. 

It took him so long to want beyond that. Now that he does, Jaime is _afraid,_ and that feels human, too.

Food forgotten, Jaime flings himself into Brienne’s arms and kisses her. The kiss is tinged with that fear--Jaime’s movements are messy, and he clings a bit too tightly. He isn’t certain if Brienne notices; if she does, she holds him just the same. 

When he needs to breathe, he breaks away and presses kisses to her cheeks, her eyelids, anywhere his lips can find purchase. Then, he’s tugging at her clothes, and she’s doing the same until the firelight is dancing off her freckles.

“Brienne, what happens if we fail?”

“We go back to Evenfall and eat Pia’s scones and mope for a while. Then, we’ll try looking for another way.”

“You’d...help me keep searching?”

Jaime feels her lips in his hair, “Certainly. We could sail to Storm’s End and see if there are any threads we can follow.”

“You’d go on a quest that large for me?”

“It would be a good reason to travel,” she says. “Don’t doomsay _this_ quest just yet. You’ve only just convinced me the wish might work if I make it.”

Somewhere, over the last few days, Brienne gained confidence. Jaime doesn’t know if it’s her faith in herself that’s growing, or if it's because she sees he needs a pillar to lean on. Suddenly, Jaime _needs_ to look at her and tell her his feelings. Brienne’s watching him, calm, when he does.

“Brienne, your father told me something.” For all the days the words were dammed up in his throat, they come easy enough now. “He said that it’s never bad to share with someone that you love them.”

She freezes, lips parted in a way that makes Jaime long to kiss her. “You...l-love me?”

“I love you,” Jaime echoes. “I wanted to tell you, even though I’m not human yet.”

“I don’t think you need to be human to love.” The way she says the last word is breathy, like she can’t believe she heard it.

“I wonder if it’s always this...overwhelming.”

“Maybe. But it’s warm, too, isn’t it?”

Jaime nods.

“I love you, too, Jaime. You don’t need to change for that to be true.”

That word and his name in the same sentence is the most beautiful thing Jaime’s ever heard.

* * *

It takes half a morning of searching until they find _a_ cave entrance. It’s near a section of the mountain where the cliff face isn’t so sheer. Instead, it slopes downward more gradually into a grassy foothill. They have to climb a bit to reach it, and when they do, the entire forest is spread out before them as far as the eye can see.

Brienne shades her eyes with her hand and looks over the vista. “Did we really walk through _all_ that?”

“And more,” Jaime replies, “because we _definitely_ went in circles.”

“We should stop by Maggy’s again and remind her of the lack of courtesy.”

He laughs, “I doubt we’d find her again.”

The opening in the rock is twice as tall as Jaime and wide enough that several people could walk abreast and fit inside. Jaime doesn’t sense anything inside the cave, but strong magic could obscure things, and he’s not exactly trained in detection.

Brienne pokes her head inside and looks around, “It seems quite large inside. Do you think this is it?”

“We haven’t found any _other_ cave entrances.”

“Good point,” she replies, “We’ll need a light to navigate it.”

“I can see better as a kelpie, but if it turns steep or narrow that might be a problem.”

She shakes her head, “Enter the cave as what you want to be.” 

“Is that from a story?”

“Just a gut feeling.”

Jaime scowls, “That’s--”

“An idiom,” she explains, “Words that mean something else. It means an instinct.”

 _“That_ I know about. We’re going to need light.”

“It’s a good thing humans can make their own.” Brienne looks around. “We can make a torch.”

They spend a few minutes walking back to the treeline looking for some appropriate branches. When she meets Jaime, she’s holding a few choices. 

Brienne wraps a spare piece of cloth from her bag around one, “It won’t last too long, but we’ll manage.”

At the entrance, Brienne uses their flint to light the torch and holds it aloft. The interior of the cave is much taller than the entrance. Jaime looks up and around, but all he sees is inky darkness.

“Are you ready?” Jaime’s voice echoes in the emptiness.

“Are you?”

His answer is reaching out to take her hand.

* * *

Brienne’s torch gives them a circle of light, but it’s even less than Jaime thought it would be. He’s used to the warm light of a hearth or a cookfire. One of the oil lamps from Evenfall would be more useful. It would burn longer and brighter.

They stumble along the passage. The ground is flat and devoid of obstacles, but there’s a slight incline. Brienne’s hand in his is a bit clammy, and sometimes she tightens her grip like she’s afraid. She never stops making progress, though.

“Are you frightened?” His voice sounds so much louder than he intends it to.

“No,” she says in a curt tone. “...It’s the darkness--not being able to see which way to go. It reminds me of being underwater.”

Water was comforting; the current always told him where to go, and nothing could harm him. This cave didn’t feel like that at all.

The incline gets steeper, Jaime places his hand on the wall to orient himself. It curves as they walk, but there’s no forks in the path.

“We’re going up,” he tells Brienne, “more directly than before.”

“I noticed.” Their torch is nearing its end, so she lights a second branch with what’s left of the first. “This cave isn’t natural.”

“You think _something_ made it?”

“It’s too orderly. One path is taking us to a destination.”

“...Hopefully one we’ll like.”

Brienne gives him a tight smile in the torchlight, “Hopefully.”

* * *

“There’s sunlight ahead,” Brienne says after another span of time.

Jaime sees it, too--a lightening of the solid darkness before them. “The air smells fresher, too.”

They reach a circular room with holes in the rock that let the sunlight in. Brienne lets go of Jaime’s hand and walks close to the edge. “More forest,” she calls back to him, “but higher up. I can’t see the ocean at all.”

“It’s beyond the boundaries of the forest.”

The space is light, but not bright enough for Brienne to extinguish the torch. Jaime looks out one of the gaps in the rock and sees the same view Brienne described. She moves away to investigate the rest of the space. There’s a moment of silence before she calls Jaime’s name.

“Come here!

Brienne’s looking at a raised area in the cave wall. It’s nondescript until Jaime gets closer and sees an image engraved into the rock. There’s a flat surface like a table in front of it. She reaches out and traces her fingers over the image and brings the torch closer.

The image is of a woman; her flowing gown and hair replicated in such a lifelike way in that Jaime can nearly see them fluttering in the breeze. There’s a serene expression on her face, and her eyes are closed. She has flowers in her hands and in a crown on her head.

“She’s beautiful,” Jaime whispers, “I wonder what it means.”

Brienne’s eyes are wide with awe when she turns to look at Jaime. “Do you remember when you asked me about human weddings the other day?”

“I do,” he replies. “We stand in a building called a sept. There’s statues of seven gods. I say ‘I say I am hers, and she is mine.’”

“One god with seven faces,” Brienne corrects, “Do you remember them?”

“The Stranger, the Mother, the Warrior…” Jaime definitely doesn’t remember them all. “Isn’t there a maiden?”

“There is,” Brienne runs her index finger over the flower crown, “And this is her, but I don’t know why she’s here.”


	15. Part XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They sit side-by-side against the cave wall and stare at the etching of the Maiden for a long, _long_ while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this! That's what I get for writing two fics at once. I am probably going to scale back to weekly updates so I can keep posting both this and _Bound by the Things We Choose_

They sit side-by-side against the cave wall and stare at the etching of the Maiden for a long, _long_ while. 

Brienne grows frustrated, and Jaime grows bored. It starts with fidgeting and a tapping of his boots against the stone floor. Then, Jaime starts drumming his fingers against his thigh and humming to himself. She’s trying to recall anything she’s ever read about the Maiden that could give them a clue, and Jaime isn’t helping. 

“Stop tapping,” Brienne’s tone sounds too sharp.

Jaime freezes, “Sorry.”

“Sorry.” she shakes her head, “I’m just frustrated. I don’t know how the Maiden works into this. I don’t even understand _why_ she’s here. Do the fae know about the Faith of the Seven?” Brienne can’t imagine _any_ creature she’s met in the forest caring one whit about a human religion.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Jaime answers, “They’d probably find it quaint.”

“And yet, there’s an alter here. Everything about the image matches the Maiden. I didn’t assume we’d be able to just walk up and _take_ an enchanted sword.”

“Well, the Maiden is one of your Seven, right? What do you know about her?”

“I never paid the Maiden that much mind.” Brienne glances to her sword in its scabbard on the ground next to her. “I always preferred the Warrior or the Mother.”

“Why?”

“Strength to fight for what’s right and to protect the people I care about. I always thought the two of them would lead me to that.” 

Jaime’s lost in thought for a moment, “So they all represent something different?”

Brienne nods, “They all represent human virtues or things that are important. We pray to them for different things. A knight would petition the Warrior for strength or bravery, or a sea captain might the Smith to keep a ship safe for a voyage.”

“Then who prays to the Maiden?”

“...Maidens.”

“Virgins,” Jaime replies. “Why?”

“To keep them _pure.”_ The word makes Brienne think of Roelle and leaves an unpleasant taste in her mouth. “The Maiden watches over young girls. One might ask the Maiden to help them find a suitable husband.”

“...Isn’t that better left to the person looking to marry? What good will asking a statue do?”

“I don’t know.” It’s just something she was always told to do, so Brienne didn’t question it. 

“Is it like making a wish?”

“I...think it’s better to ask the Seven to help you to help yourself.”

“Could that be a clue?”

“Perhaps we should ask her for something? Roelle used to tell me to ask the Maiden for guidance on being a proper lady. She told me to pray for a husband that could keep me in line and wouldn’t mind... _me.”_

Jaime puts his hand on her cheek and turns her to look him in the eyes. “You know she was just mean, right? We’ve made it this far. If you’re supposed to ask for things, let’s try it.”

“Alright.” Brienne stands and brushes her hands on her breeches. “It’s better than speculating. Let’s hope this doesn’t end up as another trick.” 

She walks to the altar and kneels before it like she would in a sept. It’s never felt foolish before, but it does now with Jaime watching her. She shuts her eyes and rests her hands on her lap. “We’re, um, looking for an enchanted sword. Could you help us find it?”

Silence.

“Jaime wants to be a human, and his reasons are pure. Can you give us a sign of where to look?”

More silence.

“We’ve been wandering in this cursed forest for _days,_ and we’re getting quite frustrated.” A pause. “Well, _I’m_ getting frustrated enough to scream, which I recognize is quite unbecoming. We were told to find a waterfall, and then a cave.”

Brienne asks more variations of the question until she realizes she’s babbling. Then, she shuts her mouth and waits. Just like since they started their journey, she’s waiting for a sign or a feeling.

After a time, Jaime speaks up, “Brienne, when you talk to the Maiden in a sept, does she answer?”

Brienne opens her eyes and looks back to Jaime; he’s still seated cross-legged against the cave wall. “Do you mean _literally?”_

“Yes.”

“We’re told the Seven speak to us through signs but not directly. I don’t know of anyone who’s _seen_ one of them.”

“Maggy mentioned a goddess guarding the sword, but she didn’t _see_ anything, either.” Jaime stands and peers at the altar once more. “Is there anything else? A ritual or a sacrifice?”

“Such as?”

“Fae like their rituals--an offering of food, the blood of a maiden, repeating a string of words.”

 _“Gods,_ what if you have to _be_ a maiden to get the sword?”

“That would be _quite_ the conundrum, wouldn’t it?”

“I could see it happening,” Brienne sounds grumpy. “In the sept, we usually light a candle.”

Jaime holds one of the torches out to her, “Will any fire do?”

“Let’s find out.”

* * *

The torch is only on the stone surface before the altar for a moment before _something_ starts to happen. At first, the sight reminds Brienne of the spots she sees after staring at the sun for too long, but after a few seconds, the spots of light begin to coalesce into a form.

_A woman._

Brienne’s growing accustomed to strange sights, but her expression _must_ be the same as when her father sees Jaime change from man to kelpie or back again. Her jaw is _definitely_ hanging open.

Behind her, Jaime whispers, “So _that’s_ how you summon a goddess.”

Her form grows more corporeal and less vague, but Brienne’s _certain_ that if she had the bravery to reach out, her fingers would pass through the shining outline of her. She’s wearing the same crown of flowers as in the image, and her flowing brown hair and pale dress blend into streams of light where her feet should be.

Brienne’s mouth is _very_ dry when she stammers “H-hello.”

The apparition smiles kindly, just as in every image of the Maiden that Brienne’s ever seen. It uncoils some of the nervous tension in her stomach. _What do I say to a goddess?_

“Greetings, children.”

Behind her, Jaime says, “Are you the Maiden?”

“Some might call me that, yes.” Her voice has a strange, echoing quality to it that Brienne thinks has little to do with the way sound carries in a cave. “It has been a long while since anyone has summoned me here.”

“Why _are_ you here?” Brienne’s need for answers outweighs her nerves. “We--humans pray to you and the rest of the Seven in a sept.”

“My image can be found there, yes, but it was not the first place I appeared,” she replies. “Humans are so keen to think everything begins and ends with them.”

Brienne’s not devout enough that she’s unable to imagine the Seven are more than she’s been taught. She told Jaime she liked the Warrior and the Mother, but she never quite believed the Seven judged and punished the way a septon might say.

“Does that mean that the Seven aren’t...real?”

The Maiden’s laugh sounds like bells, “I am before you now, am I not?”

“If my eyes are to be believed,” Brienne replies, “ _Something_ is before me, and I'm getting used to the idea of seeing is believing.”

“ I am part of your Seven, but also older."

"You're fae." Jaime speaks up again; both Brienne and the Maiden look in his direction.

 _One of the Seven can't be fae._ That made no sense at _all._ She can just imagine walking into the sept in the village and declaring that. It would be heresy.

The Maiden gives a serene smile and nods: Brienne's glad she didn't speak the thought aloud. It’s bad enough that the Maiden can surely read her thoughts.

"The kelpie can feel it, but humans are too entrenched in their ways to see it."

"Are _all_ the Seven fae?" Jaime asks.

"No," she replies, "An age ago, we appeared to humans more frequently. They were eager to brand us as part of something they understood."

"...So you _became_ the Maiden?" Brienne can think of legends with similar themes--angry gods as a reason for storms and crop failures. “Humans were trying to explain your presence.”

Jaime adds, “Like blaming kelpies for when a child drowns. Although...some of those are our fault.”

“Precisely,” the Maiden answers, “So, while I have not always been the Maiden, I answer to the name now.”

“Is there another thing we should call you?” Brienne remembers Leaf and the old language spoken between the Children of the Forest.

“Nothing your human tongue should bother with. My beloved called me by this name, so I am the Maiden to all humans in his memory. Tell me, children, what has brought you this deep into my woods?”

“We seek a sword that grants a wish,” Jaime comes to sit beside Brienne on the ground. “I wish to live as a mortal.”

“A witch named Maggy the Frog told us to seek the sword at the heart of the forest.”

“The blade is protected by a goddess,” the Maiden smiles again.

Jaime points at the Maiden, which Brienne wouldn’t _dare_ do. “It has to be you.”

“It is,” the Maiden confirms, “but Maggy should have served as a caution to those who seek the blade.”

Brienne finally has a chance to ask the question that’s been plaguing her for days, “Is an unselfish wish even possible?”

“The sword judges the righteousness of its wielder. Maggy was the first mortal to wish upon it; although, many fae tried before her with similar results. While I may protect it, I cannot judge if your wish is worthy.”

 _More games._ Brienne tries to keep her exasperation buried. “So, we must gamble?”

Jaime takes her hand and covers it with his own.

“Long ago, there was another human who sought the sword--a man who wished to slay a dragon.”

Every child on Tarth knows the story; Brienne just never made the connection between the legend and their quest. “Galladon of Morne?”

“You know him?” Jaime asks.

“I don’t _know_ him; he’s been dead for an age. It’s a story we learn as children. During the Age of Heroes, Galladon of Morne wielded the Just Maid and slayed a dragon laying waste to Tarth. The sword was given to him by…”

“...You?” Jaime finishes.

The Maiden waves at them.

“The story tells of the Maiden and Galladon being lovers,” Brienne’s mind is trying to catch up with the new information being presented to her. “And no one knows what became of him _or_ the sword after he vanquished the dragon. I always assumed none of it was real.”

“Galladon was my beloved,” the Maiden’s eyes fall shut. “I offered him the sword; he dubbed it the Just Maid in my honor. I told him of the sword’s power, and he wished for nothing.”

“So where is the sword now?”

“It remains with Galladon even still. In its dying breath, the dragon cursed Galladon to become one of its kin. He guards the sword, so I can’t bequeath it to you even if I wished to do so.”

Jaime furrows his brow, “Maggy was wrong, then, or she lied.”

“Maggy wished first,” Brienne looks to the Maiden for confirmation, “When she found the sword, it _was_ behind the waterfall.”

“That is correct, child. Maggy’s quest for the sword was long before Galladon came here. He was worthy to wield the Just Maid, so I appeared before him.”

“And fell in love,” Jaime is smiling; Brienne shouldn’t be surprised he developed a fondness for romance.

“The Just Maid grants its wielder three wishes, but they _must_ be selfless. Should you swear to use a wish free Galladon from his curse, I will tell you where he is. I do not know what is left of his spirit inside the dragon, but he deserves to be free.”

“And the second wish can grant me humanity?” Jaime asks.

“Maggy advised me to make the wish.” Brienne is still uncertain. “Is it truly selfless if I want Jaime to be human?”

“My children.” The Maiden leans forward and kisses Brienne on the forehead, then repeats the gesture to Jaime. A chill runs down her spine. Jaime is looking up at the Maiden in awe. “If the wish is for the love of another, the sword will deem it worthy.”

* * *

Before she vanishes, the Maiden directs them to a second passage leading from the room with her altar.

“It will take you through the mountain and out the other side. The exit should be near the waterfall where the sword was originally concealed. Rest there for the evening. Night will likely have fallen by the time you arrive.”

“Thank you,” Brienne tells her. “I’ll light a candle for you next time I’m in a sept.”

The Maiden laughs, “As you wish, child.”

The path is narrower than the one they used to get into the mountain. Brienne goes first, holding the torch aloft. She nearly bumps her head a few times on lower patches of the ceiling, and the rocks are slick under their feet from trickles of water.

“I’m glad this path wasn’t the one in,” Brienne takes a breath to steady herself, “I might’ve turned back.”

“You’re brave,” Jaime says, “And I don’t think The Maiden would lead us to an untimely grave.”

“The Maiden is the gentlest of the Seven, but _this_ Maiden is also a fae.”

“She must not be able to free Galladon herself,” Jaime steadies himself against the slick rock. “So, our help is her chance; she loves him, so I think her guidance is true.”

Brienne can see light up ahead, and after a few steps they round a curve in the path and emerge into another round room. 

“Water,” Jaime says.

“And another altar,” Brienne walks up to the pedestal; there’s indentations where she can imagine a sword resting.

The evening sun is filtering in through the waterfall, painting the room orange. Brienne walks to the wall of water and sticks her hand under it. Then, she starts laughing.

“You’re really cheerful for someone who was just told we had to subdue a dragon and break a curse..”

Brienne’s still laughing when she says, “I’m just glad for the _really_ specific directions.”


	16. Part XVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the sun sets, they make camp in the clearing just past the waterfall. Brienne might be glad for specific directions, but all Jaime can think is that a _literal_ dragon stands between them and the sword that can grant his wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back on track with this and should have the first draft of the last two chapters completed in a couple days. I'm going to post on Wednesday from now on (although, it's nearly Thursday...).
> 
> I can't think of anything I struggle to write more than action, but I'm pretty satisfied, actually.

As the sun sets, they make camp in the clearing just past the waterfall. Brienne might be glad for specific directions, but all Jaime can think is that a _literal_ dragon stands between them and the sword that can grant his wish. She sets up their cookfire while Jaime, as a kelpie, dives into the lake looking for fish.

 _Men fish with poles, nets, and lures._ Jaime will have to learn how.

For now, he catches them in his mouth and sends them flopping onto the grass for Brienne to make sense of. Jaime’s eaten thousands of fish in his life, always raw. They taste better cooked with salt and whatever other herbs Brienne puts on them. He especially likes how crispy they get over the cookfire.

The water is a welcome reprieve from thinking about the dragon. Jaime closes his eyes and takes a moment. This lake isn’t nearly as deep as the loch, but there’s enough water than he can float, weightless, to try and memorize the feeling.

 _This should be the last time I do this. What will being human_ feel _like?_ The glamour is real in so many ways--if he shifts now, he’ll need to surface to breathe. He gets hungry and tired faster than in his kelpie form. He _looks_ human, but he won’t age, and he can’t make a child with Brienne. The guise is all the more painful for what it lacks.

_I want those last pieces._

Jaime changes and looks through the water with his human eyes. His lungs begin to burn after what seems like no time at all; he holds his breath for as long as he can, but eventually, Jaime is forced to surface. He swims closer to the shore where Brienne has the fish roasting on sticks. Her braid is half-loose and falling over her shoulder, and her brow is creased in concentration. She turns the fish and stares at them again.

Jaime stands up and calls her name.

“Oh, you’re-- _naked.”_ She sighs, but it’s fond. “...Of _course_ you are.”

“It might be the last time, wench. I thought you might like to savor it.”

Brienne looks confused for a moment, and then she turns the slightest bit pink. Jaime loves when she looks upon him with desire. It should make her fear him, like his sister, but all he sees is her trust. _That’s_ worth this entire quest; it's worth every lonely moment he's ever felt.

“You can still do it,” Brienne replies, “you’ll just need to be more...discreet.”

She rises from the fire and hands Jaime his blanket; he wraps it around his waist like a towel. If it’s still damp at bedtime, he’ll share Brienne’s.

“We should eat.”

Jaime sits beside her on the ground, and she hands him a fish. "I...take it you’ve never seen a dragon.”

Brienne raises her eyebrows, “Have _you_ seen one?”

“Never. I heard they all died long ago.”

“I heard the same,” Brienne takes a bite of her fish. “I thought since the forest isn’t _exactly_ Tarth, that dragons might still exist here.”

“They’re ancient creatures,” Jaime replies, “with old, _powerful_ magic. The one Galladon slayed might’ve been the last.”

“One of the ancient houses of Westeros, the Targaryens, used to breed dragons and ride them into battle. They all died long ago; a dragon hasn’t been seen since.”

Jaime leans his shoulder against hers, “Do we have a plan for _our_ dragon?”

"Something other than fighting."

"Do you think the dragon will feel the same?"

“Even if we’re _supposed_ to fight it, what hope do I have of slaying a dragon? I’m one woman with a sword.”

“Galladon managed.”

Brienne stabs the stick with her fish on it back into the ground; then, she rests her head on her knees. “Galladon of Morne was a _hero;_ he had a magic sword and the Maiden’s blessing.”

 _“We_ have the Maiden’s blessing.”

“If Galladon knows to protect the sword so no one else suffers the curse of wishing on it,” Brienne turns her head to face Jaime, “then he _must_ still be in there somewhere.”

“Are you suggesting we try and _talk?”_

“...It’s the best I’ve got.”

“Perhaps I could distract it?”

Brienne looks skeptical, “With what? Nudity?”

Jaime starts laughing, _“No._ As a kelpie.”

“I’m still considering how best to phrase the wish. I thought to wish for the Maiden and Galladon to be together, but that’s too vague.”

“If the sword judges you worthy, the phrasing might not matter.”

“I hope you’re right.”

* * *

When the sun sets and supper is finished, Jaime manages to coax Brienne into the water. 

A thrill runs through him when Brienne strips off her breeches and shirt; it leaves her in only her smallclothes. The moon is nearly full again. Jaime just _stares_ and tries to keep the hunger out of his expression. There’s a time and a place, and this might not be it. 

Brienne notices and crosses her arms over her chest. In her nature, she turns the venture into a practical one--she takes the soap from her bag and washes her hair and their clothes. She wades into the shallows and keeps her back to him the entire time.

Jaime swims up behind her and rests his chin on her shoulder, “You know, wench, this _isn’t_ why I called you into the water.”

“The task is calming.”

“It’s the eve of the end of our quest.” Jaime sits behind her and pulls Brienne until they’re back to front. “I’m anxious, too.”

“And what do _you_ do when you’re anxious, Jaime?”

“I don’t know.” He kisses behind her ear; her skin tastes faintly like soap. “There was nothing to feel anxious about. When I felt restless, I’d look for you.”

“R-really?”

“You were the only thing that changed.” _And now, everything is different._ He puts his arms around Brienne and tugs her closer; she lets out a tiny gasp and drops her spare shirt into the water. She freezes when he travels upward, cupping her breasts, but then she sighs. “I think _this_ has a lot of potential.”

“You’ve made your point.”

Jaime never tires of exploring Brienne; each time, he finds something new that makes her shiver and sigh, or something that brings them both pleasure. He expects the newness to wear off, that his body will become more temperate in its reactions. Brienne drops her head onto his shoulder when Jaime’s hand wanders between her thighs and pushes aside her smallclothes.

“J-Jaime--”

“It’s relaxing, after, isn’t it?” 

_“Mhm.”_

“Then let me.”

Brienne nods, and when Jaime slides his fingers into her it transitions to a moan she can’t quite stifle. It takes a long, _long_ time--partly because Jaime’s still learning how to please her, and partially because he wants to savor Brienne’s reactions. She tries to find purchase with her feet on the lake bottom and ends up pressing against him. Brienne’s hand on him would be better, but the warm water and her wriggling against him are a fine prelude.

When Brienne wilts in his arms, Jaime feels _very_ smug at having made her do so.

She turns to look back at him, expression soft in the moonlight. “If you like, we can--”

“Brienne, I _always_ want you; there’s no need to ask.”

His words make her smile; although, she tries to fight it. “I’ve come to enjoy hearing it.”

No words are needed; Jaime touches Brienne’s hip, sliding his fingers to her backside. She gives him a pointed glare, but he only laughs and nudges her until she straddles his lap. Brienne’s pale, drying hair is loose around her face in a halo of moonlight. 

Jaime’s overcome with awe that she is his.

Only a hint of skepticism lingers in Brienne’s expression when Jaime lines his cock up with her. When they come together, she surprises Jaime by relaxing against him instantly. Brienne around him--the way she’s gripping his cock, the tightness of her thighs, her arms around his neck--Jaime longs to tell her how it feels, but all he can manage is the instinct of rocking their hips together.

For a long time, there’s no sound but their shared, uneven breaths and the gentle lapping of the water.

Until Jaime chuckles in her ear and whispers, “This feels a little backwards.”

Brienne, a little dazed, replies, “What?”

 _“You’re_ riding me.”

Brienne’s wordless answer steals _any_ witty reply Jaime might have.

* * *

They reach the cave the Maiden directed them to just before midday and crouch behind a rocky outcropping a safe distance away. Galladon’s back is turned to them, back rising and falling in time with his breathing. His scales are black, but they shimmer green and blue in the sunlight.

“It’s...asleep?”

Brienne must think his voice too loud because she presses her finger against her lips and shakes her head. Jaime repeats himself, but _much_ softer.

“He could be feigning it,’ she replies, “but I’m unsure of the benefit.”

“Not for hunting.” Jaime is happy to be able to add his input. “Kelpies hunt passively, like my sister. She makes herself appealing and waits for something to fall into her trap.”

“You don’t do it that way.”

Jaime shakes his head, “I just ate fish and grass and small things.” He had to eat, but there was no pleasure or sport in killing.

“A dragon would starve if it waited for prey to come to it.”

“If the sword is in the cave, there’s no sneaking past it." The dragon’s size blocks the entire cave entrance. _I’ll be the bait._ Brienne is risking herself for him; it’s the least Jaime can do. _“You_ have to get the Just Maid. Let me be the distraction.”

“You’re _quite_ the distraction.” 

“I’m glad you find me so effective.”

Brienne teasing him is another human thing he loves--the easy, affectionate banter that comes from their rapport. He can say something that _might_ be considered rude, and she’ll know how to interpret it.

“However,” Brienne’s slight smile vanishes, “keep your clothes on.”

"I’ll be _much_ faster as a kelpie.”

Brienne points to the ridge above the cave. “If you can distract him, I can sneak over the ridge and climb down closer to the cave entrance.”

“I’m _just_ the right size for a snack.”

She cups Jaime’s face in her hands and kisses him hard. “J-just,” she rests her forehead against his, “...be _careful._ If you die, after we came _all_ this way--”

“I think they call that _irony?”_

Brienne glares, “Just _don’t.”_

“I won’t.”

“When I get the sword, I’m making the Maiden’s wish first.”

“Just in case it backfires?”

“Because I don’t want a dragon trying to roast me alive when I’m trying to make _your_ wish.”

Jaime kisses her again--for luck, for gratitude, in case _he_ gets roasted by a dragon. He wants to thank her, but it sounds like _goodbye_ in his head, and the words won’t come. Brienne squeezes his hands, and it feels like she understands.

Brienne starts to backtrack so she can climb the ridge and get above the cave entrance. Jaime’s distracted for a long moment by how she’s able to climb so fast. When Jaime tears his eyes away, he takes off his clothes and leaves them in a pile atop Brienne’s satchel.

As a kelpie, Jaime feels safer. The form is more accustomed, and his senses are more acute. There’s no subtlety in getting a dragon’s attention, so Jaime lets out a braying noise and charges at the dragon at a full gallop. He only has two options for how to appear--threatening or delicious. There’s enough time to build up quite a bit of speed, and by the time Jaime’s covered half the distance, the dragon opens its eyes.

If Jaime doesn’t stop, the momentum of the gallop is going to cause him to run headlong into the dragon’s flank. When he slows, he rears up on his hind legs and brays again, as if to say _look at me, you scaly bastard._

For its size, the dragon is _shockingly_ quick. He’s up on its legs and moving toward him before Jaime puts his front legs back on the ground. As the dragon steps toward him, the ground shakes with each footfall. Jaime glances upward to his left and sees that Brienne is halfway to her intended goal. The cave entrance is still blocked by the dragon’s massive form.

 _I have to lure him away._

Jaime steps closer, stomps, and huffs, trying to make himself as annoying as possible. In response, the dragon pulls himself up to his full height. Smoke billows from his nostrils, and he takes another step forward. The sheer _might_ of it makes Jaime feel like his legs are frozen to the ground.

_I could’ve just stayed with Brienne at Evenfall and not asked for more._

Jaime looks to the ridge and can’t see Brienne any longer. She must be waiting for an opening, and he certainly hasn’t been able to give her one.

Galladon rears back, and there can be only one thing he means to do. The path is narrow, and Jaime looks around frantically, seeing nothing that could be used as cover. He hopes, at least, for a quick death, but being cooked alive by dragonfire probably _isn’t_ that.

It’s terror, or maybe madness, but if Jaime’s going to die, he’d prefer to be a man when he happens. Changing means he’s facing down a dragon, naked, but clothes won’t protect him from dragonfire. The last thing Jaime sees before scrunching his eyes shut are tendrils of fire licking around the dragon’s mouth.

_Brienne should flee._

“Excuse me!”

Both Jaime _and_ Galldon look to the voice. _Brienne._ In the movement, the dragon’s stream of fire misses Jaime and scorches the rock face leading to the cave entrance.

Brienne vanishes for a moment. Then, Jaime sees her pushing a boulder half her size over the edge of the cliff. It bounces off the dragon’s back but staggers Galladon enough that he lilts to the side and slumps to the ground.

“You’re Galladon of Morne!” Brienne’s voice echoes off the rocks. “The Maiden sent us here to free you from your curse.”

The dragon looks at her, smoke still billowing from his nostrils.

“I realize dropping a boulder on you was _not_ a positive step to ingratiate ourselves, but your dragonfire came _perilously_ close to someone I’m keen on protecting.”

 _“Brienne--”_ Jaime’s voice is much too quiet for her to hear.

The dragon is _still_ looking at her, and Jaime is afraid to breathe.

“You’re guarding an enchanted sword you dubbed the Just Maid. I promised to wish upon it to free you.”

Galladon moves back against the rocks and unbars the entrance to the cave.

“See, that was _much_ more pleasant,” Brienne’s tone softens, “Let us help you.”

Jaime _swears_ Galladon nods, but it has to be his eyes playing tricks on him. Regardless, curled up, he looks positively benign.

“I’m coming down.” Brienne moves to the edge of the cliff. “I trust that you’re not going to do...anything.”

Two-thirds of the way down, the rock Brienne’s using as her footing crumbles, and she tumbles the rest of the way to the ground. She lands on her feet, but quickly loses her balance and topples over.

Jaime sprints toward Brienne. _Fuck the dragon._ The rocky ground hurts his bare feet, and wishes futilely for his boots. Galladon remains motionless as Jaime approaches Brienne and falls to his knees beside her.

“Are you hurt?”

Brienne looks at him and says, “You’re naked.”

“This doesn’t count; I’m looking after you.”

She sticks her leg out, “I landed badly on my right ankle.”

Jaime removes her boot, and Brienne winces. He does the same with her sock, but he doesn’t know what he’s looking for.

“Is it painful?”

Brienne rolls her ankle and inhales sharply. “It’s not broken--probably just a sprain.”

“What can I do?”

“Go get our belongings.”

Jaime looks at Galladon, who’s still watching them warily. “We’re trying to help, so stay put.”

He gets the pack and dresses. When he kneels beside Brienne once more, she digs through the bag for her spare shirt. Brienne puts the fabric between her teeth and tears a strip off. Jaime’s quite confused until she starts wrapping it around her ankle.

When she’s finished, Brienne says, “Help me stand, please.”

Jaime takes Brienne’s arms and pulls he to her feet. When she wobbles, he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Can you put weight on it?”

“I don’t think so.” Brienne shakes her head, “We’ll have to hobble to the sword.”

“Well, we’ve made the whole journey together, haven’t we?”


	17. Part XVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For something that grants wishes that turn into curses, Galladon doesn’t treat the sword very gingerly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am quite sad there's only one chapter left of this. It's been such fun to write and share. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

“It’s like a three-legged race.”

“A three-legged what?”

 _Oh. Of course he wouldn’t know._ “It’s a children’s game--you tie your leg to your partner’s and race against others who’ve done the same.”

“That seems...not conducive to running.”

“That’s the point.”

Jaime looks perplexed, but Brienne decides to leave it alone.

Blessedly, _this_ cave has a flat floor and is open enough for two people to walk abreast. Unfortunately, the two of them are _not_ very coordinated as they hobble across. Jaime walks too quickly, and Brienne keeps testing her weight on her ankle and regretting it. 

They make it barely ten paces before Brienne says, “Slow down.”

“Stop trying to walk on it,” Jaime scolds simultaneously.

They both stop and sigh.

“I could carry you.”

Brienne is tempted by the offer. If their quest was a story, this would be a fitting spot for the knight to carry the lady. Only she’s _certain_ Jaime won’t be able to; she’s taller than he is and too broad and muscular. 

“It’s fine.”

“...Don’t think I can manage?”

Brienne goes silent for a moment before she concedes, “You can try, if you’d like.”

At worst, they crash to the cave floor in a pile. _I’m already injured, so it doesn’t matter._ Brienne is a little sore at herself about slipping and falling.

Jaime puts one arm under hers and kneels to reach the other beneath her knees. It’s unsettling, being lifted, but he stands without too much effort. Brienne loops her arms around his neck and holds on. 

She feels silly, but a bit ladylike; it’s rare and sort of nice.

“See,” Jaime takes a step, “just like when I’m a kelpie.”

“...A _little_ different.”

“Well, it will be the only choice, soon, so I hope it pleases you.”

“You’re stronger, right?” 

“Even as a human? I believe so, but I’m uncertain.”

“I wonder if you’ll be able to once this is done.”

Jaime grins at her, “I’ll manage.”

The cave entrance is wide enough that the space is well-lit in the midday sun. Brienne surveys the walls for any spaces for torches or braziers and finds nothing. _So, men and things that need light to see have never ventured here long enough to stay._ If the cave was Galladon’s home for a millennia, that made sense. 

Jaime walks her to the center and Brienne looks around. The sword wasn’t meant to be housed here, so there’s no altar or dais. However, there _is_ an area that’s cluttered with debris and straw. 

“Over there?”

Jaime looks where she’s pointing. “A...nest?”

“Perhaps? We’re not looking for an altar or a stone to hold the blade.”

When they get to the edge of the debris, Jaime asks, “Should I put you down?”

Brienne nods. When both feet are on the ground, Jaime takes her arm to steady her. He shuffles through the nest, moving the straw and bits of detritus with his boots. Brienne tries to do the same but ends up putting weight on her foot and wincing.

“Do you want to sit? I can look.”

The ground looks like a dragon has slept here for millennia without cleaning. “I...don’t want to sit on this.”

“A fair point.”

The space darkens; they both turn back to see Galladon peering into the cave. He looks back and forth. Brienne didn’t realize a dragon could look irritated.

“Sorry for ransacking your house,” Brienne calls back. “Is the sword here?”

The dragon nods, which is another unsettlingly _human_ gesture. 

Jaime crosses his arms, “Perhaps our dragon friend could be more specific.”

“Specificity _would_ spare his living quarters some ruffling.”

Galladon coming into the cave with them didn’t occur to Brienne. She tries to not appear frightened, but the scorch marks on the rock outside the cave flash in her mind. So does Jaime, running at the dragon full-tilt like an _utter_ fool. Looking upon that from above, helpless, nearly made her heart stop. _That wasn’t what I meant as a distraction._

The dragon takes up a large portion of the space. Brienne hops toward the wall and leans against it. Galladon is going the opposite direction of the nest, deeper into the cave where it curves in a way she assumed was a dead end. 

Jaime comes and leans next to her, “So, he remembers being human?”

“Enough to understand us and recall the sword.”

They stand side-by-side and wait. Jaime starts to drum his fingers against the rock behind them. Brienne is anxious, too; she just hides it better. The longer Galladon rummages around, the worse Jaime’s nervous gestures become. 

Brienne takes his hand.

Jaime squeezes hers in return but doesn’t speak.

* * *

For something that grants wishes that turn into curses, Galladon doesn’t treat the sword very gingerly. 

Or, perhaps he resents his quest and the fate that befell him at the end of it.

Or, perhaps it’s just a challenge for a dragon to carry a sword.

Galladon doesn’t throw it at their feet, but the Just Maid _does_ clank on the cave floor. For not having been cared for or maintained in Seven knows how many years, there’s no rust on the blade, and the steel practically shimmers. _Magic._ The hilt and pommel are engraved with silver and sapphires that sparkle in the light.

Brienne kneels as best she can without putting weight on her foot. “Not exactly a noble entrance for such a legendary blade.” She longs to touch the sword, but the fact that such a blade is before her gives her pause. She looks up a Galladon. “A blade like this belongs to a hero, a _knight,_ not a girl from Tarth.”

Galladon’s expression is impassable.

“You could be a hero,” Jaime says.

There’s a part of Brienne that longs for glory. She thinks, again, of those who are lured into the forest with the promise of it. _I wondered if such a fine blade would tempt me._ It’s not Valyrian steel, but it’s enchanted, so it needs not be. Tentatively, Brienne reaches out and touches the hilt.

It sounds silly, but the blade _almost_ sounds like it’s singing to her. “Maggy said the blade looked rusted to her.” Brienne glances to Jaime, “What do you see?”

“It’s nearly glowing,’ Jaime replies, “Even I can tell there’s magic imbued in it.”

She grips the hilt and raises the sword; the weight and balance are perfect. _Of course they are._ The Just Maid feels like it was made for her to hold, and that seems dangerous. _I could claim it for myself; use the third wish to make it mine._ One thought like that quickly leads to another.

Galladon is watching her. Waiting.

“You trusted me to hold it,” Brienne tells him, “but now that it’s in my hand, you question me. There’s a part of me that longs for the glory and advantage this blade would grant me. The legends say that no shield can block it and no blade can parry it.”

“I didn’t know _that_ part,” Jaime mumbles behind her.

Brienne stands; if she’s holding the sword of her dreams for only a few moments, she wants to be on her feet. Jaime takes her arm.

“The Maiden gave you this sword because of the honor she saw in you. It was a gift of love, not the promise of valor. You saved Tarth from the dragon and accepted the fate that befell you.” Brienne pauses. “I--I suppose I’m worthy to hold the blade because I see it as it ought to be. I want to grant the wish you seek. Do you wish to be mortal again? Or do you want the freedom of death?”

Galladon shakes his head.

“Do you wish to be with the Maiden?” Wishing for Galladon to be with one of the Seven sounds ridiculous, but the Maiden is just another fae. When Brienne remembers that, she looks at Jaime, and it doesn’t seem so foolish.

This time, Galladon nods.

Brienne holds the sword aloft, “I wish, then, for Galladon of Morne and the Maiden to be allowed to be together and find the happiness that was denied them.”

The blade erupts in a blinding, white light that fills the space. Brienne shuts her eyes and shields her face with her other arm. Even still, she can _feel_ the warmth of the light and several moments pass before she feels confident to chance looking.

When Brienne uncovers her eyes, she sees spots in her vision like she’s been staring too long at the sun. Next to her, Jaime still has his face covered. Brienne means to tap him on the arm, but she looks at where the dragon _used_ to stand, and her mouth falls open in awe.

Galladon of Morne stands before her wearing a finely-crafted suit of silver armor.

_It worked._

“You’ve freed me,” Galladon’s voice is hoarse with disuse. He looks around the cave for a moment; Brienne can only imagine how disoriented he must be. “I’d forgotten what it felt like to hope for such a thing to come to pass.”

“It’s been an age,” Brienne _sounds_ awed, “Y-you’re a legend.”

A ghost of a smile appears on Galladon’s features, “A small comfort, I suppose.” 

“Children on Tarth hear tales of your bravery.” Brienne doesn’t know if the knowledge will be welcome. “Fathers name their sons after you--my brother was.”

“I’m just an ordinary knight.”

“You’re the Perfect Knight.” Brienne doesn’t know how to react in the face of so modest a hero. “My brother and I used to play out your legend as children. We’d fight over who was going to be the dragon.”

Galladon laughs, “I take that it’s not widely known that I _became_ the dragon?”

“No,” she answers, “no one mentioned that.”

“We thought that dragons were gone,” Jaime adds.

“With me freed, I believe they are. The one that cursed me was one of the last.” Galladon looks at Brienne, “You made a pure wish upon that sword. That is a _rare_ gift.”

“I promised the Maiden I’d use the first wish to free you. Ser Galladon, will you go to her?”

“I will,” he answers, “but first, I’d like to know the name of the one who freed me.”

“B-Brienne, ser.” She feels every bit of the foolish girl she is. “...of Tarth.”

He laughs again, “Well, I assumed that much. Who is your companion?”

“This is Jaime.”

Galladon takes a step toward Jaime, “You’re not human, are you?”

“No,” Jaime shakes his head, “I’m a kelpie.” 

“But you love her?”

“I do.”

“Does it sadden you?” Galladon asks. “The Maiden told me, once, that loving me caused her pain because she would endure, timeless, while I did not.”

“It does, which is why I want to be human, too.” 

A look of clarity dawns on Galladon, “The sword’s second wish.” 

The Just Maid, still in Brienne’s hand, glints in the sunlight. “I’m to make the wish, but what if it--”

Jaime puts his hand over hers on the hilt, “It won’t, Brienne. I trust you.”

“I won’t say the sword didn’t tempt me,” Galladon admits. “I thought to wish to be with the Maiden, but I was _certain_ it would condemn me. Had I known I’d be condemned regardless, I might have tried. You’ve already made one wish, Brienne. I am free.”

“You’re worthy,” Jaime agrees, “We only made it here because that’s so.”

 _I’m selfish,_ Brienne wants to say, but the Just Maid is in her hand, and the time for doubt has passed. _I must have faith._ Faith in Jaime, and faith in herself.

“Then,” she takes a deep breath, “I wish for Jaime to be human because it’s what he’s chosen for himself.”

Brienne shuts her eyes--both out of nerves and because the blinding light erupts from the sword a second time. She expects to feel something, maybe because the wish is closer to her heart, but there’s only the weight of the Just Maid in her hand and white spots dancing before her eyes.

_Jaime._

He’s not touching her anymore, and she’s afraid to look. What if Jaime turns to dust, or just a regular horse, or a man without his memories of her? 

Then, she hears her name.

Brienne opens her eyes just in time to see Jaime falling towards her. The sword clangs against the stone floor when she lets it go and grabs him under the arms. They wobble a bit and a sharp pain shoots through her ankle, but Brienne stands regardless. His head is against her chest, near her heart. 

“J-Jaime?”

_“Wench.”_

Galladon, from behind Jaime, gives them a quizzical look.

“D-did it work?”

Jaime is silent for a moment, hands balled into fists at the back of her shirt. “I-I,” he stumbles, “I can’t change.”

“You can’t change,” Brienne repeats. She knows, objectively, what the words mean, but they feel like they were uttered through thick fog.

“I can’t change.” Jaime’s tone is much louder this time. “I’m thinking what I always thought when I wanted to shift, but there’s _nothing._ Before, it was like moving a muscle.”

“A-and it’s...gone?”

“It feels odd, like I don’t quite fit inside myself.” His voice is muffled against her shirt. “My limbs feel _heavy._ Can I nap for a sennight?”

“It’s the effect of the magic; the feeling should pass.”

Brienne recognizes the voice. It almost sounds like it came from her mind, only that Galladon looks around, too. Then, he smiles and says, “My love, you came to me before I had the chance to find you.”

The Maiden is much more corporeal than she appeared at the altar, but no less beautiful. She makes her own light, and Brienne can’t tear her eyes away. Her bare feet glide just the slightest bit above the cave floor. 

She goes to Galladon and takes his hands, “You remember that I’m impatient.”

“I do.”

The Maiden kisses Galladon, then turns to Brienne and Jaime. “You’ve my gratitude for freeing him.”

“No,” Brienne replies, “you have ours for guiding us here.”

“My children,” the Maiden’s smile is wise and comforting, “You can feel that the wish was successful, can you not?”

Jaime looks up for the first time; Brienne is so, so glad to see his familiar grin. “Do humans always feel so tired?”

“Frequently,” Brienne replies, “lots of small, unaccounted for pains, too.”

Jaime stands up and takes her hands. “Your ankle; I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine.” She looks him over once more now that he’s upright. “And you’re well?”

“I’m perfect.”

Jaime _looks_ fine--hale, and whole, and _happy._ All the tension leaves Brienne in a rush, and suddenly, she feels like she’s going to cry. When the tears fall, she frees one hand from Jaime’s and scrubs at her face.

The Maiden is still smiling at them.

Curious, Brienne asks, “What will the two of you do?” 

“We’ll live,” Galladon replies, “...somewhere, I suppose.”

“The forest is expansive, and we’ve all the time in the world,” the Maiden laughs. “You’ve one wish left, child.”

“Then,” Galladon adds, “you’re in possession of a _very_ fine blade.”

“You don’t want it back?”

Galladon shrugs, “I’ve had it long enough.”

“I’m keen on leaving it with you, too,” the Maiden adds.

Brienne bends down and picks the sword up; Jaime steadies her the whole way. _The Just Maid. A sword of legend--mine to wield._ She wraps one arm around Jaime and holds the blade aloft in the other.

“There’s really only one thing left to wish for.”

“What’s that?” Jaime asks.

“I just really, _really_ want to go home.”

There’s a third blinding flash of light. When Brienne opens her eyes, she’s greeted by the familiar sight of Evenfall’s front door. _Home._

Pod, holding a bucket of chicken feed, lets out a long, high-pitched shriek and spills every bit of it into the grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagined Pod screaming like Finn from _Adventure Time_ ahahaha.


	18. Part XVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pod is _still_ shrieking when Jaime, clinging to Brienne, decides that one magical teleport is enough for the remainder of his newly mortal, finite life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it! 😭 Thank you for every comment, kudos, subscription, and bookmark. I really thought this idea was too silly to write, but it's been so worth it. I am so sad to leave this universe.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys the final chapter! There's a bonus scene at the end that I wrote first, but it didn't fit in the chapter in the end. It amused me, so I thought I'd share it; think of it like a post-credits scene lol.

Pod is _still_ shrieking when Jaime, clinging to Brienne, decides that one magical teleport is enough for the remainder of his newly mortal, finite life. It _was_ better than walking all the way back through the forest.

Jaime doesn’t know a lot of people yet, but Brienne is definitely the most practical he’s met.

The shrieking, of course, alerts everyone else. Pia comes around the side of the house, using her apron as a makeshift bag for potatoes and turnips. Unlike Pod, she doesn’t drop them all onto the ground. 

From behind the front door, a booming voice says, “Was that Pod’s shriek?”

Pod, now flailing his arms, says, “L-Lady Brienne and J-Jaime! T-they just _appeared!”_

The front door opens wide, and Selwyn steps on all the scattered chicken feed. He stares at the two of them for a long moment before rushing forward and wrapping an arm around each of them. The Just Maid is still in Brienne’s hand, and she drops it into the grass to return her father’s embrace.

Unsure, Jaime keeps the arm that isn’t around Brienne at his side. She’s the only human who’s ever really touched him. Perhaps her father put one of his oversized hands on Jaime’s shoulder once, but nothing more.

“Do you _know_ how long the two of you have been gone? I know my daughter to be very capable, but it’s been _weeks._ I was beginning to panic.”

“W-weeks?” Brienne sounds confused. “Not more than a fortnight, surely.”

 _“Six,”_ Selwyn corrects, “I wasn’t concerned until the four week mark.”

“Time,” Jaime says, “the forest affects it, remember?”

Jaime’s a bit relieved when Selwyn steps back and leaves only a hand on each of their shoulders. It makes him feel warm to be welcomed, but the effusiveness might just be because Brienne and he are propping one another up.

Selwyn looks at him, “I see you kept her safe.”

“I tried,” he answers, “but I think we protected one another.”

“Even better. Come inside and tell me about it.”

* * *

There’s Pia’s blackberry scones on a platter in the center of the kitchen table. A pot of tea appears moments later.

 _Home._

They wandered for over a fortnight in a place that _should’ve_ been native to him, but Evenfall’s kitchen table feels more familiar than anything in the forest. Jaime sits in the chair he always occupies, and the coarse sugar sprinkled atop the scone tastes exactly as he remembers. He eats the entire thing and takes another off the platter.

Suddenly, he’s feeling _a lot_ of emotions because an hour ago he was a kelpie charging at a dragon deep, deep in the forest, and now he’s a man sitting at table with a mortal life ahead of him. _I thought there’d be time._ A transition period--the journey home, a moment where Brienne might hold him while he processed such a profound change in his essence.

Brienne is talking, but she sounds muted; hopefully she can carry the tale of their quest because Jaime’s not up to any questions just now. It works for a time--he isn’t sure how long, but eventually Selwyn says his name.

Then, a second time.

The third is Brienne’s voice; that’s when Jaime looks. 

“Excuse me?”

“Father asked if we were successful.”

“I’m human,” Jaime replies, “A-and I’m sorry, but I’m _really_ tired. Can I--?”

Brienne looks at him, “Should I…?”

“No, stay. I’m just getting used to it.”

Jaime can feel their concerned gazes on his back as he exits the kitchen.

* * *

The only clothes left in his borrowed room are the first set Brienne lent him when he walked naked from the loch. They’re clean and folded on top of the dresser, so Jaime takes them and goes to the room with the bathtub. The pump, which seemed so foreign before, is easy to use now.

As the tub fills, Jaime dumps in some of Brienne’s soap and watches it foam. When the tub is full enough, he strips from his travel-worn clothes and sinks into the water and washes.

Jaime must doze because when he opens his eyes, Brienne is peering down at him.

“Did you hop here on one foot?”

“I used the wall as support. It wasn’t hard.” Brienne shrugs, “You _can_ drown now, you know?”

_What a way to die on his first day as a human._

“I could before, too, in this form,” he replies.

“True, but it never seemed likely.” Brienne pauses. “Are you alright? Do you regret--”’

“No!” Jaime reaches to take Brienne’s face between his hands; water cascades down his forearms and onto her shirt. “We just returned here so quickly. I thought I’d have time to get used to it before--”

“You have all the time you require.”

“I know. I’m just...having a lot of feelings.”

“I can’t even _imagine._ Take your time with them. _”_ Brienne smiles at him, and it helps quite a bit. “Would you like a towel? Your water’s gone cold.”

“Please.”

“I’ll wait outside so it doesn’t look like _\--anyway.”_

 _Propriety._ Jaime had almost forgotten about that arbitrary line that decided what behavior was acceptable and what wasn’t. _I suppose I should care about how my behavior appears._ He should also care about how he impacts Brienne. No one in the village would care that they made love in the forest, or that Jaime felt her in his heart like a physical presence. 

When Jaime exits, dressed in Brienne’s clothes, she kisses him and goes into the bathroom. Jaime remembers holding her in the water under the moonlight, just the night before, and wishes he could follow her back in.

* * *

Jaime expected to _feel_ different.

He always thought there was something intrinsically _human_ he was missing, and that once the change was real and permanent, that blank spot would be filled with _whatever_ aspect of humanity that was just beyond his reach.

It’s been a few hours, and Jaime hasn’t felt anything yet. He’s a little overwhelmed, and a little tired. The bath and the nap and supper helped. Pia’s food tasted just the same, and the last swatches of purple and orange in the sky as the sun sets look like the thousands and thousands of days he’s lived before.

Objectively, Jaime knows there’s one less day he’ll be able to watch the sunset, but even that feels abstract.

Eventually, Selwyn finds him sitting in the grass and joins him. They don’t speak for quite a while, which is fine because Jaime doesn’t know what to say.

“You know,” Selwyn eventually says, “I could scarcely believe the tale Brienne told me.”

“I suppose, from your perspective, it would seem _quite_ fantastical.”

“Brienne used to read and make up stories like that when she was a girl. Although, she did it less after Galladon drowned.”

 _Then she just dreamt of kelpies._ Jaime runs his fingers through the wispy grass beside him. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t save them both.”

Selwyn shakes his head. When he speaks, he sounds sad. “The ache of losing a child doesn’t end. I’ve tried, but I haven’t always been the best father I could be to Brienne.”

“She loves you,” Jaime shuts his eyes, “Every action Brienne takes, she thinks of how it will impact you.”

“I know,” he sounds a bit resigned, “Brienne tries to be all my children at once. I don’t want her to deny herself happiness because of me.”

“Brienne knows that; I think it’s just hard for her.”

He sighs, “She’s very serious.”

“She is.” All it takes is thinking of Brienne, and Jaime is smiling. “May I ask you a human question?”

“Certainly.”

“Do you think about death?” 

Selwyn begins laughing, “I know that it will come. I know that it’s taken people I loved from me, sometimes unfairly and much, much earlier than I would’ve wished. But no, I don’t spend the moments of my day thinking how life is getting shorter.”

“I thought I’d _feel_ it.” Jaime doesn’t know how clearly he can convey the feeling. “I expected mortality to have this...weight, I suppose, and I feel just as I did this morning.”

“Do you want to know my opinion?”

Jaime looks at him, “Please.”

“Knowing how to use a stove or attach a horse to a plow isn’t what makes people...people. You acted human from the moment we met.”

“Truly?”

“I’ve watched you struggle and worry and form attachments,” Selwyn rests a hand on his shoulder, “You think about the future and the past. You want things.”

“I love Brienne.” The thought makes him smile. _That’s_ the future he wants. “She told me about marriage, and said you’d want us to, since we already--”

 _I shouldn’t have said that._ Jaime half hopes Selwyn will miss the insinuation. 

...He doesn’t.

“I don’t need to know that,” Selwyn interrupts, “In fact, I don’t _want_ to know that you and my _unwed_ daughter--in the _forest?_ ”

Jaime won’t mention that he lost track of how _many_ times. Sometimes, humans should omit certain details; he’ll work on knowing when.

“T-there’s a fae custom--a bond,” He pauses, trying to find the right words to tell Selwyn what it meant, what it _means._ “I suppose, to humans, it’s just mating---”

 _Sex._ That would’ve been a better word. Selwyn is still just _looking_ at him. 

“We belong together,” Jaime finally says, “and everything we encountered knew of it. It...helped.”

Selwyn looks up at the first stars appearing in the sky. “In the sept, one of the vows is _‘I am hers and she is mine.’”_

“Brienne told me about the vows.” Jaime looks up at the stars, too, “I’ll say them there, too.” He wants to see the statue of the Maiden, anyway.

“In the forest, this bond--is that what it meant to you?”

“It is.”

Surprisingly, Selwyn laughs, “I loved Brienne’s mother very much. She used to sneak out her window to meet me, and we did things _her_ father would’ve thrown me off a cliff for, had he known.”

Jaime isn’t sure if he should laugh, or if that’s not appropriate. “So you...understand?”

“I was young once, too,” Selwyn stands and turns to go back inside, “We’ll talk about it in a few days.

 _I’m not young,_ he wants to call out. Then, Jaime realizes that today is, in a way, his first nameday.

* * *

It could be the softness of the bed after sleeping on the ground, or it could be that, despite his exhaustion, his mind won't quiet. Either way, Jaime can't sleep.

Or it could be that he misses Brienne.

His concept of time isn't good, but it can't be more than a half hour before he's walking down the hall and knocking softly on Brienne's door. The bemused smile she gives him when she opens the door makes Jaime's heart race.

"Hello."

"I know you said we shouldn't," Jaime says, "but can I stay for a few minutes? I can't sleep."

Brienne glances down the hall, but it's quiet and darkened. "Of course."

When she closes the door behind them, Jaime notices Brienne is wearing a nightgown. It's light blue and hits at her calves. He never considered what she wore to sleep at home. Her hair is undone and loose around her shoulders.

"You're staring at me," she accuses.

"I've never been in your room like this."

"There's little to see," she replies, "It hasn't changed much since I was a girl."

Jaime disagrees. It seems like a lot could be learned about Brienne from this room--a dozen tiny details that make up her humanity.

"I'd still like to see more of it."

Brienne's weighing a consideration in her mind; he can see it on her face. Then, she whispers, "Would you like to stay?"

"Yes." A grin spreads across his face. “You changed your mind?"

"It's not that I don't want to."

"I know."

"It's just not like the forest."

“Speaking of the forest,” Jaime tries to look innocent, “I...sort of told your father that we...mated.”

“You _what!?”_

“I told him I loved you.” Hopefully that will smooth over the rest. “...Then the rest.”

_“Jaime.”_

“The bond--I know it doesn’t matter as a human, but I wanted him to know I was serious.”

Brienne sighs, “Is he angry?”

“Not angry, but a bit...fatherly, I suppose. He said we would _speak more later.”_

“...Lovely.”

“I don’t think he’ll throw me off a cliff if he finds me here.”

"A night will go unnoticed," she says, "if we're discreet."

"Are you telling me to be _quiet?"_

_“Discreet.”_

Jaime peels off his borrowed shirt and pants before diving under the covers on Brienne's bed. When he pokes his head out, she's giving him the same bemused smile.

"Come here."

It's a disappointment that she doesn't take off her nightgown, but the fabric is sheer enough that Jaime can feel the heat of Brienne's skin when he moulds himself to her side. Jaime _knew_ it; Brienne and her bed are the _perfect_ combination. He wastes no time in touching her, sliding his foot up her calf and cupping her breast through her nightgown.

 _"Jaime,"_ she sounds both exasperated and breathless.

"I'm a man," he whispers, "a real one, now."

"Did I imagine you as one before?"

"No, but I did."

Brienne tilts her head to the side to kiss him. Jaime leans forward to meet her. It's a slow, aimless exchange until Brienne darts her tongue out to brush against his lips.

Then, they're of the same mind because Jaime reaches under the hem of her nightgown the instant she reaches for him. After two strokes, he lets out a groan that's _much_ too loud with Brienne’s open window and her father's room at the end of the hall. When Jaime slides his fingers into the wetness between her legs, Brienne shudders, but she's _so_ much quieter.

She's still touching him when she whispers, "You _have_ to be quieter."

"Then stop making me feel so good." Brienne unhands him; Jaime grabs her wrist and drags it back. "...I'll be quiet."

Jaime _tries_ because he wants to stay with her until morning, but he quickly finds himself overwhelmed. It's mostly Brienne's kisses that absorb the sounds he makes. When she sits to pull her nightgown over her head, Jaime’s busy hands make the process harder until Brienne huffs.

 _“Slow down,”_ she whispers. Then, she reaches and turns off her oil lamp, plunging them into the moonlight. “Jaime, we should sleep.”

“There’s a man, a naked _human man,_ in your bed, and you want to _sleep?_ ”

He’s pretty certain Brienne rolls her eyes, but it’s hard to tell in the moonlight because she’s kissing him again.

* * *

**_A few days later..._ **

“She’s the most docile we have.”

Jaime takes a step back, “I don’t know, Brienne; I think she _knows.”_

“Knows what?”

“That I used to be a superior version of her.”

“A superior--” Brienne rolls her eyes and pats the mare’s flank. “Jaime, she’s a fine mare; even Pod will ride her into town.”

“Are you comparing me to a child?”

“If it suits my aim, yes. Her name is Clover.” 

“Why Clover?”

“Because I was ten and thought the name was sweet.” Brienne takes Jaime’s hand and presses it to the spot she was just petting. “See, she wouldn’t harm a fly.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Then you plan to walk to town? It doubles the travel time.”

“...Yes.”

“Then you plan to walk everywhere for the rest of your life? What if we sail across Shipbreaker Bay? Will you walk across Westeros?”

Brienne has a point--a good one, even. The mare is pretty enough--dappled brown and white, but she’s appraising him with one black eye. 

_“Fine._ On one condition.”

“If it gets you on the horse to run our errands, _absolutely.”_

Jaime grins, “You have to ride with me.”

Her answer is the scowl Jaime’s grown so fond of. _“Fine._ For a short trip, she can carry two riders.”

Brienne removes the saddle and sets it aside. Jaime might be imagining it, but he _certain_ Clover looks relieved. _I remember how that feels. Maybe she isn’t so bad._

“Bareback is easier with two,” Brienne continues, “no added weight from the saddle and more comfortable.”

“You used to ride _me_ bareback.”

“I did.”

“Well, you _still_ do, but it’s a bit different now.”

It takes a moment, but when Brienne comprehends, she blushes violently and crosses her arms. “T-that’s-- _I’m leaving you here.”_

“You’re not,” Jaime laughs.

She sighs, defeated. “Front or back?”

“...Front.”

Brienne helps Jaime onto Clover’s back; she doesn’t quite lift him, but she _could._ It makes him want to turn around and kiss her. Then, the mare shifts underneath him, and the impulse is gone. Jaime hopes she doesn’t bolt. 

When Brienne climbs behind him, the impulse returns.

Then, she reaches around him and anchors her hands in Clover’s mane. Jaime snuggles back against her. When Clover starts moving, he tenses until Brienne guides his hands to her mane, too.

“Hold on for yourself but don’t yank,” she whispers into his ear.

“I know; it hurts.”

“...I _never_ yanked.”

“When we crashed into the lake you did.”

“Then I’m sorry. Holding on will make you feel better.”

Brienne’s right, but her arm around his waist does just as much good.

_Maybe this isn’t so bad._

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not already, follow me on tumblr @ kurikaesu-haru. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this story!


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